AbouttheBook

When William X dies, theduchy of Aquitaine is left tohis fifteen year-old daughter,Eleanor. But such a positionforanunmarriedwomanputsthewholekingdomatrisk.Soon his deathbed Williammadeawillthatwouldensurehis daughter’s protection: hepromised her hand in

marriagetothefutureKingofFrance.

Eleanor grows into aromanticandbeautifulqueen,but shehas inherited thewillof a king, and determines torule Aquitaine using herhusband’s power as King ofFrance.Herresolveknowsnolimit and, in the years tofollowshewastobecomeoneof history’s most scandalousqueens.

‘Miss Plaidy, whosemeticulous attention tohistoricaldetailcanseldom,ifever,befaulted,haswovenavivid novel to launch thePlantagentsagaonwhatwill,undoubtedly, be a top sellingcourse.’SouthWalesArgus

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Contents

CoverAbouttheBookTitleCopyrightPraise for Jean

PlaidyAbouttheAuthorAvailable inArrow

BooksbyJeanPlaidyFamilyTree

Eleonore andHenry

I: Duchess andQueen

II: Petronelle andtheCount

III: The Lovers ofAntioch

IV: The RoyalDivorce

V: Queen ofEngland

Henry andThomas

VI: The King’sWill

VII:FairRosamundVIII: The Rise of

BecketIX: The Abbess

BrideX:TheVacantSeeXI: The Rising

StormXII: The King’s

TriumphXIII: Flight from

EnglandXIV: Rosamund’s

BowerXV: Traitor’s

MeadowXVI:MurderXVII: The King’s

Remorse

Bibliography

Jean Plaidy, one of the pre-eminent authors of historicalfiction for most of thetwentieth century, is the penname of the prolific Englishauthor Eleanor Hibbert, alsoknownasVictoriaHolt. JeanPlaidy’snovelshadsoldmore

than 14 million copiesworldwidebythetimeofherdeathin1993.

For further informationaboutJean Plaidy reissues andmailinglist,pleasevisit

www.randomhouse.co.uk/minisites/jeanplaidy

PraiseforJeanPlaidy‘Avividimpressionoflifeat

theTudorCourt’DailyTelegraph

‘Oneofthecountry’smostwidelyreadnovelists’

SundayTimes‘Plaidyexcelsatblendinghistorywithromanceand

drama’NewYorkTimes

‘ItishardtobetterJeanPlaidy…bothelegantand

exciting’DailyMirror

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thepastwithsuchrich

complexity’Guardian‘Plaidyhasbroughtthepast

tolife’TimesLiterarySupplement

‘Oneofourbesthistoricalnovelists’NewsChronicle‘Anexcellentstory’Irish

Press‘Spirited…Plaidypaintsthe

truthassheseesit’BirminghamPost

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rewarding’Scotsman

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currenthistoricalnovelists’BirminghamMail

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backgroundvividlytolife’Everywoman

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fascinating’ManchesterEveningNews‘Excitingandintelligent’

TruthMagazine‘Nofrillsandplentyof

excitement’YorkshirePost‘Meticulousattentionto

historicaldetail’SouthWalesArgus

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‘Effectiveandreadable’Sphere

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thosedays’LaurenceMeynell

AvailableinArrowBooksbyJeanPlaidyTheTudors

UneasyLiestheHeadKatharine,theVirginWidow

TheShadowofthePomegranate

TheKing’sSecretMatterMurderMostRoyalStThomas’sEveTheSixthWife

TheThistleandtheRoseMaryQueenofFrance

LordRobertRoyalRoadtoFotheringayTheCaptiveQueenofScots

TheMediciTrilogyMadameSerpentTheItalianWomanQueenJezebel

ThePlantagenetsThePlantagenetPreludeTheRevoltoftheEaglets

TheHeartoftheLionThePrinceofDarkness

TheFrenchRevolutionLouistheWell-BelovedTheRoadtoCompiegne

Flaunting,ExtravagantQueen

ELEONOREANDHENRY

ChapterI

DUCHESSANDQUEEN

From a window of theChateau de l’Ombriere theDuke of Aquitaine lookeddown on the scene in theshaded rose garden. It was

one to enchant him. His twodaughters - charmingcreaturesbothofthemthoughthe elder of the two,Eleonore,surpassedinbeautyher sister Petronelle - weresurrounded by members ofthe court, young men andwomen, decorative andelegant, listening now to theminstrelwhowassinginghissongoflove.

TheDuke’seyes restedon

Eleonore, for she was at thecentre of the group. Somequality in her set her apartfromtherestofthecompany.Itwasnotonlyherbeautynorwasitherrank.Shewasafterall the heiress of Aquitaineuntil its Duke begot a sonand, widowed as he was, hemustbestirhimselfifheweretodoso,foralthoughhewasbut thirty-eight years of age,hehadlosttwowivesandtheonly outcome of those

marriages was his two girlsEleonore and Petronelle.Eleonorewastallandshewashandsome; there wassomething commandingabout her; she had the air ofone born to rule. There wasalso a sensuality. He sighed,thinking of his father whoselife had been dominated byhis devotion to the oppositesex and wondering whetherhis attractive daughterwouldfollowhergrandfatherinthat

respect.

She was fourteen years ofage, Petronelle three yearsyounger. Yet there was aripeness about them both,even little Petronelle. As forEleonore, she was ready formarriage. And if anythingshould happen to him beforethis event took place, whowould protect her? Heimagined her in her rosegarden surrounded by her

minstrelsandtheladiesofhercourt; and some suitor ridinginto the castle. There wouldnot only be Eleonore’s vastlands and fortune to attracthim but the fascinatingEleonore herself. And if sherefused to marry? He knewthe manners of the day. Thelovely maiden would beabducted, held prisoner,deflowered if she would notyield willingly and placed insuch a position that her

family would be eager tomarryhertoherravisher.

Itwashardtoimaginesucha fate forEleonore.Yetevenshe would be forced tosubmit.

HethankedGodthatithadnotcometothat.Herehewasamanofthirty-eightwithtwoattractivedaughters.Hemustmarry and beget a son. Yetwhat ifheweretomarryandthere was no son? It was a

logical assumption as so farthere had been onlydaughters. How often wereroyalmaleheirselusive.Whyshould he have been givenonly daughters? As wascustomary with men of histimes he asked himselfwhether God was punishinghim for his sins or perhapsthesinsofhisforbears.

His fatherhadbeenoneofthemostrenownedsinnersof

hisage.Womenhadbeenhisdownfall.Hehadlefthiswifeand set up his mistress ingreat state, even having animageofherengravedonhisshield. William the ninthDuke ofAquitaine had carednothing for convention, andalthough the greatest motivein his life had been thepursuit ofwomen, thiswas acommon enough quality - orfailingdependingon thewayone looked upon it - and he

was renowned rather for hisloveofpoetryandsong.ThisDuke’sidealstatehadbeentolie with his mistress of themoment and listen to thestrumming of the harp, andthe songs, which were oftenof his own composing, sungby his minstrels. He wascalled the Father of theTroubadours and Eleonorehad inherited his talent inthis; she could compose apoem,setit tomusic,playit,

singitandattractedtoherthefinestsongstersintheDuchy.What else had she inheritedfromhergrandfather?Havingnoted theexpression in thosebig languorous eyes as theyrested on various comelygentlemen, the Dukewondered.

Whatheshoulddowasgeta son quickly and find ahusband for Eleonore. Butneitheroftheseprojectscould

be achieved without a greatdeal of thought. A husbandfor Eleonore now when shewas the heiress could easilybe found but it would berememberedthatshecouldbedisplaced if her father had ason. And to have a son hemust first find a wife! Notthat that presented any greatdifficulty.Whathemusthavewasafruitfulwife.Andtherewas the gist of the matter.Who could say until a man

wasmarriedwhetherhiswifewouldgivehima son?Whatifhemarried to find the ladybarren or capable only ofgivinghimdaughters?

So this was his dilemma.Should he marry again andtry for a son? Or should heacceptEleonoreastheheiressof Aquitaine? What of herhusbandifshemarried?Quiteclearly,ifsheweretoremainheiress of Aquitaine there

was only one husband whowould be worthy of her andthatwas the son of theKingofFrance.Sohewas tornbydoubtsashelookeddownonthescene,inthegarden.

He sent for Eleonore.Because she was clever andcould read andwrite - a rareaccomplishment - becauseshealreadyseemed to regardherself as the potential ruler

of Aquitaine, because hermind was agile and to beadmired as much as herbeauty, he had talked to herfor some time as he wouldhave talkedwith someofhisministers.

Shecameinfromthewarmsunintothecomparativechillof the castle, wrinkling hernose a little for the smell ofrushes after the rose gardenwas none too pleasant. She

would order the serving-manto sweeten the place. Itshould have been done aweek ago. Rushes quicklybecameunpleasantlyodorous.

Her fatherwouldbe inhisapartmentwhichwasreachedbyastaircaseattheendofthegreathall.Thishallitselfwasthemainroomofthecastle.Itstretchedfromoneendtotheotheranditreacheduptotherafters.The ducal apartments

weresmall incomparisonforitwasinthehallwithitsthickstone walls and narrow slitsof windows that the courtspent most of its time. Herecourtiers danced and playedthe harp and sang; here theladiessatandembroideredasthey told tales and sang theirsongs;andbecause thecastlecouldnotaccommodate themall they lived inhousescloseby where they could bewithinreachofthecourt.

Eleonore mounted thestairs to her father’sapartment.

Hestoodupassheenteredand,placinghishandsonhershoulders, drew her to himandkissedherforehead.

‘My daughter,’ he said, ‘Iwouldspeakwithyou.’

‘I guessed it, Father, sinceyou asked me to come toyou.’

Some might have saidcommanded. Eleonore mustbe asked, never commanded,and graciously she grantedtherequest.

Her father smiled at her.He would not have had herotherwise.

‘You know, Eleonore, mydear daughter, that I amdeeplyconcerned.’

‘Forwhatreason?’

‘Ihavenomaleheir.’

She lifted her headproudly. ‘And why shouldyou need a male heir whenyouhaveadaughter?’

‘Aye, a fine daughter.Mistake me not. I am awareof your qualities. But menseemtofollowmen.’

‘Theywill bemade to seethat there are timeswhen fortheirgoodtheymustfollowa

woman.’

He smiled at her. ‘I doubtnot that you would makethemunderstandthat.’

‘Then,Father,youhavenoproblem.Cometothegardensand you shall hear myminstrels sing my latestsong.’

‘A treat I shall enjoy, mydear daughter. But it issuggested to me by my

ministers thatmydutylies inmarriage.’

Eleonore’s eyes blazed insudden anger. Anothermarriage! A half-brother todisplace her! That wassomething she would doeverything in her power toprevent. She loved this fairlandofAquitaine.Thepeopleadored her. When she rodeout they came out of theircottages to see her, to give

many a heartfelt cheer. Shebelieved that they wouldneverfeelsowarmlytowardsanybutherself.Oh,shewasawomananditmaybethathersex was against her; but hergrandfather, Duke WilliamIX, had loved women,idealised women; he hadinstitutedtheCourtsofLove;he had composed poetry andsongs in favour of love, andwomen had been the mostimportantfactorinhislife.So

whyshouldnotthenextrulerof Aquitaine be a duchessinstead of a duke? It waswhat the peoplewanted. Sheherself wanted it; andEleonore had already madeup her mind that what shewantedshewouldhave.

‘And if you married,’ shecried,‘howcouldyoubesurethat youwould get thismaleheir by which you set suchstore?’

‘I am content with mydaughters.’Hequailedbeforeher fury, which was in itselfridiculous.He,a fatherandaduke, to be overawed by agirl, andhisdaughterat that!Whyshouldhefeel thisneedto placate her? ‘It is myministers…’hebeganfeebly.

‘Then your ministers mustneedsmindtheirownaffairs.’

‘Dear daughter, this is anaffairoftheDuchy.’

‘Very well then, marry,and I’ll swear you will soonbe making a pilgrimage tosomesaint’sshrineaskingforafruitfulmarriage.’

‘Apilgrimage?’

”Tis the custom. But Iwonderatyou.Youhavesinsto answer for, Father. Youneed redemption even asmygrandfatherdid.’

‘I never lived the life he

did.’

‘His sins were committedin theCourts of Love. Thereare others which have to beanswered for. You haveoffended many, Father. Itmay be that the prayers ofyour enemies would beanswered, prayers forretribution and not yours forforgivenessofyoursins.’

‘Daughter, you turn all toyouradvantage.’

‘MayhapIupholdthetruth.I was ever one who likedplain speaking and alwaysshall.’

‘So then let us have plainspeaking.Youaretheheiressof Aquitaine and aredeterminedtoremainso.’

‘It is my wish and naturalinme.A poor ruler I shouldbeifIdidnotviewthelossofmy inheritance withabhorrence. Ifyoumarryand

thereismaleissueIshouldbedisplaced. The people wouldregretit.’

‘Nay,theywouldnotregretmygivingthemaduke.’

‘Firstyouhavetogetyourlittle duke, and God hasshown you in two marriagesthatitisdaughtersforyou.’

‘If you believe this youwill not be disturbed at theprospectofmymarrying.’

‘I shall be disturbed byyourdisappointment,Father.’

He laughed at her. ‘Mydear Eleonore, you are adiplomatist already.And youbutfourteenyearsofage!’

‘Ihavemadefulluseofmyfourteen years, sir, andsomething tells me that Godwill never give you a malechild.’

‘Have you become a

prophetthen?’

‘Nay.Somany royal lordsmarryforsons.TherewastheKing of England, think howhestroveforason.Andwhathappened? His marriage wasbarren.Therewasamanwhohad scattered his bastardsthroughout the realms ofEngland and Normandy, buthe had one legitimate sonwhowasdrownedat sea andnever could beget another.

God denied his dearestwish,as he may well deny youyours.IbelievethatHenryofEngland regretted his secondmarriage. Of what good wasit? It did not bring him thevery thing he married for.Sons.’

‘He was a man who hadledalifeofgreatimmorality.’

‘He and your father werealike in that. Perhaps he didnot repent enough and so

Heaven turned a deaf ear onhisentreaties.’

‘I am no Henry I ofEngland.’

‘Nay, Father, you are not.ButyoustoodoutagainstthePope. It may be that he isasking Heaven not to grantyour wishes for that veryreason.’

The Duke was silent. Hehad wondered the same

himself.WasHeaven againsthim for supportingAnacletusII against Innocent II whenalmost the entire worldagreed that Innocent was thetrue Pope? He had beenforced togive in in time,butit would be rememberedagainst him.When Henry ofEngland had died andStephen of Blois hadproclaimed himself king, theDuke had joined forces withGeoffreyofAnjouandsought

to subdue Normandy andbring thatdisturbeddukedomto Geoffrey, the husband ofMatilda, Henry’s daughterwho many said had moreright to England - andNormandy - than the upstartStephen. And what hadfollowed?Bitterdefeat!

He, like his father, hadnever been aman to indulgein warfare. Aquitaine hadbeen secure for generations

and its people enjoyed apeaceful life. The Duke hadhated war. He could notforget thesightofmendyingaroundhim;theheart-rendingwailing of women andchildren driven from theirhomes.

Could it be that he hadoffended God and that untilhe received absolution hecouldnothopeforason?

He wanted to explain to

this vital girl of his why hewanted a male heir. Hewanted her to understand thedifficultiesthatcouldbefallawoman. She never wouldbecause she saw nodifficulties. Yet they werethere.

He wanted to see a songrowing to manhood, a sonwho would take the reins ofgovernment in his handsbefore his father died. That

would give continued peacetoAquitaine.

Thentheideacametohimwhich had come to so manybefore him. He must placatehis God and the one way todo this was to go on apilgrimagetoofferhomagetothe shrines of the saints.Themost ardent sinners gainedabsolution in this way. He,the tenth Duke William ofAquitaine,wouldfollowtheir

example.

‘What Imust do,’ he said,‘isgoonapilgrimage. Iwillvisit theshrineofasaintandthere I shall gain forgivenessofmysins.WhenIhavedonethis I shall come back andmarry,andGodwillgrantmetheblessingofason.’

Eleonore narrowed hereyes.

The pilgrimage would not

be achieved in a few weeks;then there would have to bethe matter of selecting asuitablebride.

It was always best to putoff evil for as long aspossible. There was a gooddeal to be done before herfather couldmarry and begetason.

Something told Eleonoreheneverwould.

There was the bustle ofpreparations. Having madehis decision Duke Williamfelt serene in his mind. Hewas to travel to the shrineofSaint James at Compostellaandtherehewouldprayforafruitful marriage. Hisdaughter watched hispreparations with a certaincynicalsatisfactionas thoughshe knew his prayers wouldremainunanswered.

He felt contrite in a way,for he loved her dearly. Headmired her, as did mostpeoplewhowereawareofherdominant personality. If onlyshehadbeenof themalesexhewouldhaveaskednothingmore. He wanted her tounderstand thatonly inbeingfemale had she failed. Andnotforhim;likehisfather,hehadtheutmostadmirationforher sex, but it was others hemustconsider.

Atthemomentshewastheheiress of vast possessions.RichAquitainecouldbehersand thereby put her incommand of as muchterritory as that possessed bythe King of France. It wastruethattheywerethevassalsof theKing of France but inname only. The kings ofFranceknewthatthedukesofAquitainewielded asmuch -perhaps more - power thanthey did. It was a matter of

formthatthedukesbowedtotheking.

‘It is a hazardous journeyto Compostella,’ said theDukeonedaytohisdaughter.‘It is that which makes itcertainthatanywhoreachit,bytheveryarduousnatureoftheir journey, will have theirprayersanswered.’

‘You are a fool toundertakesuchhazards.’

‘Ifeelittobeaduty.’

‘Duty! Bah! Butmake thejourney if you wish it. Andseewhatcomesofit.’

‘Would toGod itwerenotnecessary, Eleonore. I thinkof you constantly. I find ithardtoleaveyou.’

”Tisofyourchoosing,’shetoldhimcoldly.

‘Not mine, but those towhom I owe a duty. I shall

takefewmenwithme.’

”Twould not be fitting totravel in great state on suchanerrand,’sheagreed.

‘And I would leave mybravest behind to protectyou.’

‘Icanprotectmyself.’

‘There is no harm inhaving a stalwart guard.AndI shall confer with the KingofFranceforhewillbeeager

to come to your aid if Ishouldaskhim.’

‘Youwouldtrusthim?’

‘Yes, if his sonwereminealsoandmydaughterhis.’

‘Youmeanamarriage!’

‘Yes. A marriage betweenyou and the son of theKingofFrance.’

Shesmiledquietly.Well,itwasnotabadprospect.Ifshe

were going to give upAquitaine she would beQueenofFrance.

LouisVIwas so large thathe was known as Louis theFat. He could not possiblylive much longer. RumoursfilteredintoAquitainethathewas confined to his bed andbecause of his immense sizenoonecouldlifthimfromit.He had been over-fond offood and this was the result.

His sonwas a boy a year orso older than Eleonore. Sheliked what she had heard ofyoung Louis. He should beeasily governed by adominating wife. And shemust marry soon. Only sheknew how close she hadcome to submitting to theardours of some of heradmirers. There weremembersofhersexwhowerewomenattheageoffourteen.Eleonore of Aquftaine was

one of them. It was amercythat she was ambitious andproud; this saved her frombeing carried away by herintensephysicaldesires.

She, more than any, knewthat for her marriage shouldnotbelongdelayed.

‘When I return,’ said herfather, ‘I must marry; andthen there must be a doublewedding. When my bridecomestoAquitaineyoumust

gotothecourtofFrance.’

‘But would the King ofFrancewishhisson tomarryme if I were not yourheiress?’

‘The King of France willrejoice in an alliance withrich Aquitaine. He is astuteenough to know its worth.And there areno alliances tocomparewiththoseforgedbymarriagebonds.’

Shenoddedgravely.

It was a bright prospect,but she was unsure. If shecould bring Aquitaine to herhusband she would bewarmly welcomed. Butotherwise?

It was a cold January daywhen the Duke set out forCompostella.

His daughters were in the

courtyard wrapped in theirsable-lined cloaks, to wishhimGodspeed.

‘Farewell,’ said the Dukeembracing first Eleonore andthen Petronelle. ‘God guardyou.’

‘Rather let us ask Him toguard you, Father,’ saidEleonore.

‘He will smile on mymission,restassuredofthat,’

repliedtheDuke,‘andwhenIreturn I shall be free of myburdenofsiri.’

Eleonore was silent; shehad suggested he postponehis journey for itwas foolishto set off in winter. She hadbelieved that it was alwaysgood to postpone that whichone hoped would never takeplace. But the Duke wasassuredof theurgencyof theundertaking and would not

considerdelay.

‘He will suffer for hisfoolishness,’ Eleonoreconfided to Petronelle, whoagreed with her sister. ForPetronelle, like many others,adored her dazzling eldersister.

When the cavalcade hadclatteredoutof thecourtyardEleonore and her sister wentuptothetopmost turret theretowatchitsprogress.

One would never haveguessed that itwas theDukeof Aquitaine who rode at itshead.Hewashumblydressedasapilgrimshouldbe,andhehad taken so few of hisfollowerswithhim.

The castle was wellfortifiedandEleonorewasitsmistress. If any dared comeagainst her there would bestalwart knights to protecther.Andnonewoulddarefor

was shenothalf promised tothe son of the King ofFrance?

Thiswas awaiting time, atimewhenthegreatfireinthecentre of the hall sent itssmoke up to the vaultedceiling and the smell ofroasting venison filled thecastle. It was too cold tofrolic in the beautifulgardens; they must perforcemakedowith the castlehall;

and there they feasted anddanced; they sang theirballads; they strummed theirharps and the sweet notes ofthe lute were heardthroughoutthecastle.

Over the entertainmentsreignedtheboldandbeautifulEleonore. Many of thegallants sighed for herfavoursandsheoftenthoughtof granting them; but theymust for the time content

themselves with singing oflove.

So while Duke Williamtraversedtheicyroadsonhisway to Compostella,Eleonore reigned supremesurrounded by hertroubadours. She might bedestinedtobecometheQueenofFrancebutshewasthefirstQueenoftheTroubadours.

Duke William quickly

realised how unwise he hadbeen to setout in thewinter.Theroughroadswereicy;thewind biting. Valiantly thehorses endeavoured to maketheir way but the going wasslow. Yet, said the Duke tohislittlebandofpilgrims,theveryfact thatwesuffer thesehardshipsmeansthatoursinswill be the more readilyforgiven. What object wouldthere be in travelling incomfort?Howcouldwehope

for our sins to be forgiven ifwe did not suffer for ourredemption?

When darkness fell theyrested wherever they foundthemselves. Sometimes itwould be in a castle,sometimes in a peasant’shumblehome.

TheDukethoughtmuchofthe castle of Ombriere andpicturedEleonoreinthegreathall,thefirelightflickeringon

herproudhandsomeface;theyoung men at her feetwatchingherwithyearningintheir eyes.Thatpower inherwouldattractmentoheruntilshe died. It was yet anotherinheritance of this richlyendowed young woman. Shecould take care of herself.That was his great comfort.Eleonore would lead others;noonewouldforceher todowhat she did not wish. Hethought of her - those large

eyes which could bespeculative when sheconsidered her future andsoulful when she listened tothe songsofher troubadours,that thick hair which fell toher waist, the oval face andthestronglineofthejaw.Hisgreat comfort was: Eleonorewill take care of herself nomatterwhathappens.

When he came back withthe blessing of Saint James,

whenhemarried andhis sonwas born, Eleonore wouldstill be a desirable parti.Would the King of Franceconsider her worthy of hissonwithout the rich lands ofAquitaine?

That was a matter to bethought of when the timecame. First he must get hisson.Nay,hethought,firsthemustgettoCompostella.

He had coughed a great

dealthroughthenightandtheicy winds had affected hislimbs; they felt stiff andunwieldy.Itwouldpasswhenhe returned to thecomfortofhishome.Onedidnotexpecta pilgrimage to be acomfortable holiday. Thesaint would be gratified thathehadenduredsuchhardshipto pay homage at his shrine.And when the weatherchanged and he could livecomfortably again, his cough

would go and the stiffnessleavehislimbs.

Thepartyhadcrossed intoSpain,butherethegoingwasrougher than ever. Thecountryside was sparselypopulatedandbecause itwasso difficult to get along theyoften found no shelter whennightfell.TheDukewasnowso weak that his followersdecided that theymust at theearliest opportunity construct

a litter that he might becarried.

Wishing to endure theutmost hardship, the Dukeprotested at first. Only if hesuffered would the saintintercede with such fervourfor him that his sins beforgivenandhegainhisgoal.But it was useless; he hadbecometooilltosithishorse;hemustsubmit.

There was no comfort in

being carried over thoserough roads.Hewas soon ingreat pain and it suddenlyoccurredtohimthathemightnever reach the shrine, thatthere would never be themarriage which would givehim the male heir forAquitaine.

Morosely he contemplatedthe future as he was joltedalong.

Eleonoretherichestheiress

in Europe and a girl offourteen. He should havebeen content with what hehadbeengiven.Notasonbutagirlwhowasasgoodasanyboy,agirlwhofailedonlyinher sex.And because he hadnot been content with whatGod had given him, he hadventured on this pilgrimagefromwhichhewasbeginningto wonder whether he wouldeveremerge.

Each day his dismalthoughts went back toOmbriere. What wouldhappenifhedied?Assoonasthat fact became known thefortune hunters would beunleashed.Ayoung,desirableand, above all, rich girl wasunprotected,andshewasripefor marriage. Adventurerswould come from alldirections;hecouldseesomeboldambitiousman stormingthe castle, capturing proud

Eleonore and forcing her tosubmit. Could anyone forceEleonore? Yes, if he hadhenchmen to help him in hisevil designs. The thoughtmaddenedhim.

Who was there to protecther? His brother Raymondwas far away in Antioch. Ifonly Raymond was at hand.He was something of a heroand the Duke had oftenthought that his fatherwould

have preferred Raymond tohave inherited Aquitaine.Very tall, fastidious in hisappearance, possessed of anaturalelegance,RaymondofPoitiers was born tocommand. He had been theideal crusader and was nowPrinceofAntioch,forhehadmarried Constance, thegranddaughter of the greatBohemond of the firstcrusade. But it was no usethinking of Raymond in far-

offAntiochasaprotector.

Could it be that he wasgoing to die? As each daypassedhisconvictionbecamestronger. He was finding itmore and more difficult tobreathe; there were timeswhenhewasnotsurewhetherhe was on the road toCompostella or fighting forpossessionofNormandywiththeDukeofAnjou.

In hismoments of lucidity

he knew that he mustabandon hope of reachingCompostella. His sins wouldbe forgiven but he must payfor forgiveness with his life.And his affairs must be inorder. He must be sure thatEleonorewasprotected.

There was one way to dothis.Hemust ask forhelpofthe most powerful man inFrance:itsking.

He would offer his

Eleonore to the King’s son.He had no qualms about theoffer being joyouslyaccepted. Louis had longcoveted the rich lands ofAquitaine and this marriagewould bring them to thecrownofFrance.

He called to his litter twoofthemenhemosttrusted.

‘Make with all speed toParis,’ he said. ‘Let it beknown that you come from

theDuke ofAquitaine. ThentheKinghimselfwillseeyou.Take this letter tohim. If theletter should be lost beforeyoureachhim,tellhimthatIwish a marriage between hissonandmydaughterwithoutdelay, for I fearmy days arenumberedandifthemarriageis not arranged others maystepinbeforehim.’

Having despatched themessengers the Duke felt

easierinhismind.Ifhewereto die, Eleonorewould be ingood hands, her futureassured.

King Louis VI of France,known as the Fat, lay on hisbedbreathingwithdifficulty.Hedeploredhisconditionandit gave him no comfort torealise that he should neverhaveallowedhimselftoreachsuch bulk. He had enjoyed

good food and had neverrestrained his appetite for itwas an age when men wereadmired for their size. If onewas rich one could eat toone’s fill; it was onlypeasantswhowenthungry.Ittherefore behoved a king toshowhissubjectsthathewasin a position to consume asmuch foodashisbodycouldtake.Butwhatatollittookofaman’sstrength!

He longed for the days ofhisyouth,whenhehadsathishorse effortlessly; now therewas no horse strong enoughtocarryhim.

It was too late to repine.The end was in sight in anycase.

He often said to hisministers that if only he hadhad the knowledge in hisyouth and the strength in hisold age he would have

conquered many kingdomsand left France richer thanwhen he had come to thethrone.

But was it not a well-known maxim: If Youth butknewandAgecoulddo.

Now he must plan for thefuture and he thanked Godthat he had a good heir toleavetohiscountry.

Godhadbeengoodtohim

whenhehadgivenhimyoungLouis. He was knownthroughout the kingdom asLouis the Young, as hehimself was known as Louisthe Fat. He had not alwaysbeen the Fat of course, anymore than his son wouldalwaysbe theYoung;sufficethat those were thesoubriquets by which theywereknownatthistime.

Young Louis was sixteen

years old - a serious boy,inclinedtoreligion.Notabadthinginaking,musedLouis.Young Louis had beendestined for the Church andnot to rule at all for he hadhad an elder brother.He hadspenthisearlyyearsatNotre-Dame and he had takenwellto the life. But it was not tobe. Fate had ordainedotherwise.

Bernard, that rather

uncomfortable Abbot ofClairvaux, who was inclinedto fulminate against all thosewhodidnotfallintolinewithhis beliefs - and none knewmore than rulers howirritating such prelates couldbe, for had there not alwaysbeen certain friction betweenChurch and State? - hadprophesied that the King’seldestsonwouldnot takethecrownbutthatitwouldfalltohisbrotherLouistheYoung.

TheKinghadbeenuneasy,for Bernard had a reputationformaking prophecieswhichcame true; and sure enoughthisonehad.

One day Philippe the heir,after hunting in the forest,came into Pariswhere a pig,running suddenly across theroad, tripped his horse.Philippe fell and struck hisheadagainstastoneanddiedalmostimmediately.

By this time Bernard hadbecome revered as a holyman who could see into thefuture,andyoungLouismuchtohisdismaywastakenfromNotre-Dametostudythecraftofkingship.

The boy had alwayshankered after the religiouslife.Perhapsitwasnotabadthing. A certain amount ofreligionwas good for a kingprovided it did not interfere

with duties. He would becalled upon now and then todefend his kingdom and hisfather hoped that when suchoccasion arose he would notbesqueamishaboutpunishingthose who rebelled againsthim. Young Louis was toogentle. Also he must get anheir. Louis had neverfrolicked with women. Somany young men of his agehad fathered a few bastardsbythistime.NotLouis.

Now theKing sent for hisson.

He sighed a little as theboystoodbeforehim.

‘Ah,’he said, ‘youseemeprostrate.Never indulgeyourappetite as I have done. It isnotworthit.’

‘Iseethat,Sire.’

‘Beseated,myson. Ihavenewsforyou.’

Louissatdown.

‘My friend and ally, theDuke of Aquitaine, is in thesame sad state as that inwhichIfindmyself.Itwouldseemneitherofusislongforthisworld.’

TheKingsawthelightsoffear spring up in his son’seyes. They did not mean somuch that he could notendure to lose his father asthat he feared the heavy

responsibility which thatdeath would place on hisshoulders. A king shouldneverbe afraidofhis crown,thoughtLouis theFat.Apityindeed that he had broughthim up in religion. But howcould he have known thatHeaven had already signedPhilippe’s death-warrant andsent a paltry pig to be hisexecutioner?

Louiswould forget thathe

had loved the ceremonies ofthe Church when those ofState were forced upon him.It was merely thecontemplationofgreatpowerthatfrightenedhim.

‘Therefore,’ went on theKing,‘Ithinkitwellthatyoushouldmarryandthatwithoutdelay.’

Now the boy was reallyfrightened. Thiswould neverdo. A pity he had never

dallied with a girl in somesecluded part of the huntingforests.Itwasallverywelltobe as he was if he remainedthesecondson.Buthewouldchangewhenhewasmarriedto a young and beautiful girland by all accountsEleonorewasthis.

‘Youcannotgetanheirtoosoon,my son. I have a bridefor you. I could not havechosen one who pleased me

more.TheDukeofAquitaineis dying, so his messengerstellme.Hehassufferedmuchhardship on the road toCompostella. His heiress ishis eldest daughter. She isfourteen years of age andverydesirable.Thereis tobeamatchbetweenyoutwo.’

‘Marriage,’ stammeredyoungLouis,‘sosoon…’

‘Without delay. It is whatthe Duke wishes. He has

placedhisdaughterundermyprotection. This is the finestthing that could happen toFrance.Eleonoreisheiresstoall the Duke’s dominions,Poitou, Saintonge, Gasconyand the Basque country. Icouldnothavechosenamoresuitablebrideforyou.’

‘Father, I am as yetunprepared…’

‘Nonsense, my son. Littlepreparation is needed to get

an heir.We shall put you tobed with this desirable andvery rich girl and you willknow what to do. Think ofthe good she can bring toFrance.Themorelandsunderour protection the lesslikelihoodofwars.Themorepowerfulwearethemorewecan work for the good ofFrance.’

‘The possession of landsoften leads to strife. They

mustbeprotected.’

‘They must indeed beprotectedandgoodwiselawsbemade for them. It will beyourdutytogiveahappylifetoyourpeople.’

Young Louis closed hiseyes. Why had this had tohappentohim?Whyhadthatmiserablepigruinedhis life?Philippe would have been agood king; he had beentrained for it.Andhe,Louis,

would have spent his life intherarefiedatmosphereoftheChurch.HewouldhavebeenthePrinceoftheChurch;howhe loved the sonorouschanting,thebeautifulmusic,the hallowed atmosphere.Andhe had lost this becauseGodhadcalledonhim todohisduty in adifferent spherefrom that for which he hadbeentrained.

‘I am sendingword to the

DukeofAquitainethatIshallcherishhisdaughterandthatIam losing no time inarrangingamarriagebetweenherandmyson.’

‘Father,istherenohelpforit?’

‘No help, my son. Thismarriage must take placewithoutdelay.’

‘How far to the shrine?’

whisperedthedyingDuke.

‘Butamileorsonow,mygoodlord.’

‘Thank God then, I shallreachCompostella.’

Just a little more pain toendure and salvation wouldbe his. Who would havethought that he should comesofarandenduresomuchtoaskforamaleheirandtofindinsteaddeath?

‘Therearemessengers,mylord Duke,’ said one of hisbearers.‘TheycomefromtheKingofFrance.’

‘Thank God then. ThankGodagain.Whatnews?’

‘TheKing,my lord, sendshisgreetings.Hewillcareforyourdaughterashewouldhisown for indeed he says ereyou receive thismessage shewillbealmost that.Forhe isbetrothing his son to her and

the marriage of France andAquitaine will take placewithoutdelay.’

‘Ishalldiehappy,’saidtheDuke.

So this was the answer.Eleonore would be safe. Shewould be Queen of Franceand what more could he askfor her than that? She wasborn to rule - not onlybecauseofherinheritancebutbecause of her nature. She

had the innate power toinspirerespectandlove.

Itwas said that theKing’sson was a serious boy,destinedfortheChurchashehad been. He had provedhimself to be a greatchurchman in the making,and would have been suchhadnotawaywardpigmadehim a future King of Franceand husband of Eleonore ofAquitaine.

‘Lift me,’ he said, ‘that Imay see the shrine of StJames.’

They did so and he wascontent.

Since her father’s absenceEleonore had been theundisputed mistress of thechateau. During the coldwinter’seveningssheandhercourtwouldrangethemselvesabout the great fire in the

centreofthehall;therewouldbesingingandmusicandshewouldjudgethemeritsoftheliterary compositions andperhapssingoneofherown.

This she enjoyed; to sitamong them, more elegantlyattired than any of the otherladies,more brilliantlywitty,while at her feet sat theknights gazing at her withadoration. The first lesson inchivalrywas theadorationof

women. Romance was thegreatestadventureoftheday.It was not so much theculmination as the dallianceon the way, althoughEleonore herself knew thatthat climax must inevitablybereached.Shethrilledtotheardent glances; she allowedherselftodreamoffulfilment,but in her heart she knewtheremustbesomedelay.

Sometimes she played a

game of chess with anadmirer,foritwaspartofthecourt education that anywhoaspired to gracious livingmust first master the game;she always found an elementof excitement in the conflictover the board; because shewasfightingabattleandfromthis she invariably emergedthevictor.

In the privacy of herbedchamber she talked with

hersister.Petronellebelievedthat everything Eleonore didwas right. She imitated hereldersisterinallthings.Nowtheir conversation centredround their father. Theywondered constantly whatwashappening tohimon thedangerousroads.

Petronelle turned toEleonore and said: ‘Do youthinkhewillcomeback?’

There was a faraway look

in Eleonore’s eyes; she wasgazingintothefuture.‘Itwasfoolish of him,’ she said, ‘toattempt such a journey atsuchatimeoftheyear.’

‘Whydidhenotwaituntilthesummer?’

‘It would have been tooeasy a journey. It had to behazardous that hemight earnforgivenessforhissins.’

‘Hadhesomany?’

Eleonore laughed. ‘Hethought he had. He wasobsessed by his sins, as ourgrandfatherwas.’

‘What about you,Eleonore? Have youcommittedanysins?’

She shrugged her elegantshoulders.‘Iamtooyoungtobe concerned with sins. It isonlywhenyou are of an ageto fear death that repentanceisnecessary.’

‘So we need not concernourselves with repentanceyet,sister.Wemaysintoourheart’scontent.’

‘Whatapleasantprospect,’criedEleonore.

‘Everyone in the castlerespectsyou,’ saidPetronelleadoringly. ‘I think they loveyou more than they did ourfather.Butifhemarriesagainandwehaveabrother…’

Petronelle looked fearfullyup at Eleonore who wasscowling.

‘It won’t happen, sister,’went on Petronelle quickly.‘Ifhemarriedhewouldn’tgetaboy.’

‘It maddens me,’ criedEleonore. ‘Why thisreverence for the male sex?Are not women morebeautiful, more subtle, oftenmorecleverthanmen?’

‘You are, Eleonore,clevererthananyman.’

‘Yet because they go intobattle, because they havegreaterphysicalstrength,theyregardthemselvessosuperiorthat a puny son would comebeforeafinedaughter.’

‘No son our father gotwould ever equal you,Eleonore.’

‘Yethemustundertakethis

pilgrimage in the hope thatSaint James will plead forhimandhecomesafelyback,marryandgetason.’

‘The saints will neverlisten to him. They will callhim ungrateful. God hasgivenhimyou,Eleonore,andheisnotsatisfied!’

Eleonorelaughedandblewakisstohersister.

‘At least you appreciate

me,’shesaidwithasmile.

She went to the narrowwindow and looked out onthebleakroad.

‘One day,’ she said, ‘weshallseeapartyofhorsemenon that road. Itwill eitherbemy father coming backtriumphantor…’

‘Or, what, Eleonore?’asked Petronelle who hadcometostandbesideher.

But Eleonore shook herhead.Shewouldsaynomore.

Itwasbuta fewdays laterwhen a messenger did cometothecastle.

Eleonore, who had beenwarned that he was sighted,was in the courtyard to greethim; sheherselfheld thecupofhotwineforhim.

‘I bring ill tidings, mylady,’ he said before he

would take the cup. ‘TheDuke is dead. The journeywastoomuchforhim.Ihaveasorrytaletotell.’

‘Drink,’ said Eleonore.‘Thencomeintothecastle.’

She took him into the halland sat with him beside thefire.Sheorderedthatfoodbebrought to him, for he hadriddenfarandwasexhausted.But first she must hear thenews.

‘He suffered towards theend, my lady, but neverwavered from his purpose.We carried him right to theshrine and that made himhappy. He died there in hislitter but not before he hadreceived the blessing. It washis wish that he be buriedbefore the main altar in theChurchofSaintJames.’

‘Andthiswasdone?’

‘Itwasdone,mylady.’

‘Praise be to God that hediedinpeace.’

‘His one concern was foryourwelfare.’

‘Then he will be happy inHeaven for when he looksdown on me he will know Icantakecareofmyself.’

‘BeforehediedhereceivedanassurancefromtheKingofFrance,mylady.’

Eleonoreloweredhereyes.

Therewouldbeawedding.Her own. And to the son oftheKingofFrance.LouistheFat would not have been soeager toallyhissonwithherhad she not been the heiressofAquitaine.

How could she grieve?How could she mourn? Herfather, who had planned toget an heir who woulddisplace her, was no more.Hisplanswereasnothing.

There was one heir toAquitaine. It was DuchessEleonore.

Young Louis was veryapprehensive. He was totravel to Aquitaine, there topresent himself to his brideandaskherhandinmarriage.That was a formality. Hisfather and hers had alreadydecidedthatthereshouldbeamatchbetweenthem.

What would she be like -this girl they had chosen forhim?At least shewasayearyounger than he was. Manyroyalprincesweremarriedtowomen older thanthemselves.Thatwould haveterrifiedhim.

Howhewishedthathehadremained inNotre-Dame.Helonged for the ceremonies inwhich he had taken part, thesonorous chanting of priests,

the smell of incense, thehypnoticmurmurofvoicesinprayer. And instead theremust be feasting andcelebration and he must beinitiatedintothemysteriesofmarriage.

He wished that he werelike so many youths; theylived for their dalliance withwomen; he had heard themboasting of their adventures,laughing together, comparing

their brave deeds. He couldneverbelikethat.Hewastooserious;helongedforalifeofmeditation and prayer. Hewantedtobegood.Itwasnoteasy for rulers to shutthemselves away from life;theyhadtobeat theheartofit.Theywere said togovern,butoftentheyweregovernedbyministers.They had to goto war. The thought of warterrified him evenmore thanthatoflove.

The King lay at Bethizyandthitherhadcomethemostinfluential of his ministers,among themtheAbbeSuger.Themarriage between youngLouis and Eleonore ofAquitaine had won theirimmediate approval. It couldonly be to the good of thecountry that the rich landsofthe south should come to thecrown of France. The Kingcould be assured that hisministerswoulddoallintheir

power to expedite themarriage.

The Abbe Suger wouldhimself arrange the journeyand remain beside the Princeashischiefadviser.

The King, who knew thatdeath could not be far off,wasanxiousthattheprogressfrom Bethizy to Aquitaineshould be absolutelypeaceful. There must be nopillaging of towns and

villages as the cavalcadepassedthrough.Thepeopleofthe kingdom of France andthe dukedom of Aquitainemust know that this was apeacefulmissionwhichcouldbringnothingbutgood to allconcerned.

He could rest assured thathis wishes would be carriedout,theAbbetoldhim.

He sent for his son. PoorLouis! So obviously destined

for the Church. And he hadheard accounts of Eleonore.A voluptuous girl ripe formarriage, young as she was.Shewouldknowhow towinLouis, he was sure of that.Perhaps, when he saw thisgirlwhoby all accountswasone of the most desirable inthecountry-andnotonlyforher possessions - he wouldrealisehisgoodfortune.

He told him this when he

came to his bedside. ‘Goodfortune,’hesaid,‘notonlyforyou, my son, but for yourcountry, and a king’s firstdutyistohiscountry.’

‘I amnot a king yet,’ saidLouisinatremblingvoice.

‘Nay,butthesignsare,myson,thatyouwillbeerelong.Govern well. Make wiselaws. Remember that youcame to the crown throughGod’s will and serve him

well. Oh, my dear son, mayall-powerfulGodprotectyou.IfIhadthemisfortunetoloseyou and those I send withyou, I should care nothingwhatevereitherformypersonormykingdom.’

Young Louis knelt by hisfather’s bed and received hisblessing.

Thenhe leftwithhispartyand took the road toBordeaux.

The town of Bordeauxglittered in the sunshine; theriver Garonne was like asilversnakeandthetowersofthe Chateau de l’Ombrierestretched up to a cloudlesssky.

The Prince stood on thebanks of the river gazingacross.Themomentwhenhewasbroughtfacetofacewithhis bride could not long be

delayed.

He was afraid. Whatshould he say to her? Shewoulddespisehim.Ifonlyhecould turn and go back toParis.Oh,thepeaceofNotre-Dame! The Abbe Suger hadlittle sympathy forhim.Asachurchman, he might havebeen expected to, but all hecould think of - all anyonecould think of - was howgood this marriage was for

France.

‘My lord, we should taketo the boats and cross toBordeaux. The LadyEleonorewillhaveheardthatwe are here. She will notexpectdelay.’

He braced himself. It wasno use hanging back. Whatwas not done today must bedonetomorrow.

‘Letusgonow,’hesaid.

Hewasridingtothecastleattheheadofthesmallpartyhe had taken with him. Hisstandard bearer held proudlythe banner of the goldenlilies. He looked up at theturret and wondered whethershewatchedhim.

She was there, exultantlygazingatthegoldenlilies,theemblem of power. Aquitainemightbe richbut akingwasnecessarily of higher rank

than a duke or duchess andeven if the acknowledgementof suzerainty was merely aform yet it was there, andAquitaine was in truth avassalofFrance.

And I shall be Queen ofFrance,Eleonoretoldherself.

Shecame to thecourtyard.She had taken even greatercare than usual with herappearance. Her naturalelegancewasenhancedbythe

light blue gown she waswearing;thiswascaughtinather tiny waist with a beltglittering with jewels. Shewas not wearing thefashionable wimple as shewanted to show off herluxurianthairwhichsheworehanging over her shoulderswith a jewelled band on herforehead.

She looked up at the boyon his horse as she held the

cupofwelcometohim.

Young, she thought,malleable. And her heartleapedintriumph.

He was looking at her asthough bemused. He hadnever imagined such abeautiful creature; her sereneeyes smiled into his calmly;thediademonherbroadhighbrow gave her dignity. Hethoughtshewasexquisite.

He leaped from his horseand,bowing,kissedherhand.

‘Welcome to Aquitaine,’shesaid. ‘Praycome into thecastle.’

Sidebysidetheyentered.

She told Petronellewhen hersister came to her chamberthatnight:‘MyFrenchPrinceis not without charm. Theyhave grace, these Franks.

They make some of ourknights seem gauche. Hismanners are perfect. At firstthoughIsensedareluctance.’

‘That passedwhen he sawyou,’ said the ever-adoringPetronelle.

‘I think it did,’ repliedEleonore judiciously. ‘Thereis something gentle abouthim.Theybroughthimupasapriest.’

‘Ican’timagineyouwithapriestforahusband.’

‘Nay, we shall soon leavethe priest behind. I wish weneed not wait for theceremony. I would like totake him for my lover rightaway.’

‘You always wanted alover, Eleonore. Father knewitandfearedit.’

‘It is natural enough. You

too,Petronelle.’

Petronelle sighed andraisedhereyestotheceiling.‘Alas,Ihavelongertowait.’

Thentheytalkedintimatelyabout the men of the court,their virtues and theirpotentialitiesaslovers.

Eleonore rememberedsome of the exploits of theirgrandfather.

‘Hewas the greatest lover

ofhisage.’

‘Youwillexcelevenhim,’Petronellesuggested.

‘That would be mostshocking in a woman,’laughedEleonore.

‘But you will be equal tomeninallthings.’

‘Ilookforwardtostarting,’saidEleonorewithalaugh.

The Prince loved to listen to

her singing and watch herlong white fingers pluckingthe lute and the harp; shesaid, ‘I will sing you one ofmyownsongs.’

And she sang of longingforloveandthattheonlytruehappiness in love wasthrough the satisfaction thiscouldbring.

‘How can you know?’ heasked.

‘Some instinct tells me.’Herbrillianteyeswerefullofpromise; even he found acertain desire stirring in him.He no longer thought soconstantly of the solemnatmosphereoftheChurch;hebegan to wonder whatmysteries he and his bridewoulddiscovertogether.

Sheplayedchesswithhimand beat him. Perhaps shehadhadmorepractice.When

hewaslearningtobeapriestshe had been brought up incourt accomplishments. Itwas a lighthearted battlebetweenthem.Whenshehadcheck-matedhimshelaughedandwasdelighted;itwaslikeasymboltoher.

Theywalkedinthegardensof the castle together. Sheshowed him the flowers andthe herbs which grew in theSouth. She told him how it

was possible to make curesand ointments, lotions tobeautify the skin and makethe eyes shine, a draught tostirareluctantlover.

‘Dost think that I shallneedtomakeoneforyou-‘

He caught her hand andlookedintoherface.

‘No,’ he said, vehemently.‘Thatwillnotbenecessary.’

‘Thenyoufindmycharms

enoughforyou,mylord?’

‘Enoughindeed.’

‘So that you long for ourmarriage?’

‘I yearn for the day,’ hetoldher.

Shedrewback,laughingathim.

Notbad formymonk, sheconfided afterwards toPetronelle.

The Abbe Suger, seeinghow their relationship wasripening, believed thereshould be no delaying themarriage. It was trueEleonorewasinmourningforher father’s recent death butthiswasaStatemarriageandthe sooner it was solemnisedthe better for everyoneconcerned.

He mentioned this to thePrinceandwasamazedbythe

alacritywithwhichhe-oncesoreluctant-agreed.

‘TheDuchessofAquitaineis an enchantress,’ said theAbbe.

It was July when theweddingtookplace.

Eleonore’swomen dressedher in her glittering weddinggown and shewore her longhair flowing. She sat on herglitteringlycaparisonedhorse

and rode through the streetsof Bordeaux to SaintAndrew’s Church where theceremony was to beperformedby theArchbishopof Bordeaux. What a day oftriumphfor thebride!Onlyayear ago she had wonderedwhethershewouldberobbedof her inheritance by a half-brother. But Fate hadintervened. No one couldcome between her and herambitionnow.

Shewas exultant and onlyalittlesadthatshehadhadtocome to her triumph throughthe death of a fatherwho, inher way, she had loved wellenough. But there was nodoubtofhersuccess.

Duchess ofAquitainewithnonetodisputeherclaimandsoon-shebelievedverysoonand so did everyone else -QueenofFrance.

Eleonore blossomed. Sensualin the extreme she foundmarriage to her taste. PoorLouiswasalittlelessardent-although there was no doubtthat he loved her with adeeper emotion than shecould muster for him.Eleonore loved love; shehadknown she would when as averyyounggirlshehadsungof it in the gardens. There,love had been glorified -romantic love. She wanted

that, but shewantedphysicalloveaswell.She itwaswholed the way in passion. Shemight have been experiencedin such arts; thiswasnot thecase; he was her first lover;but with her there was anatural knowledge andunderstanding.

They were glorioussummer days, spent inwatching the celebrations fortheir wedding and nights

spentinmakinglove.

There was music andsinging and Eleonore wasinitiating him into anappreciation for the chansonsand poems at which sheexcelled. It was a delightfulexistence but of course itcould not continue. Thecontests and tournaments inthecastlegroundsmustcometoanend,forthePrincemustreturntoPariswithhisbride.

She had through himbecome the Princess ofFrance; through her he mustbecome the Duke ofAquitaine.

Everywheretheywenttheywere met by rejoicingcrowds. Such an alliance allknewcouldbringnothingbutgood. The people ofAquitaine could shelterbeneath the golden lilies ofFrance and the kingdom of

France had gathered apowerful neighbour into itseagerembrace.

Thiscouldonlymeanmorehopes of peace and as whatwas more dreaded thananything by the humblepeople were armies invadingtheir homes and carrying offtheir goods and women, thiswas a desirable state ofaffairs.

They had reached Poitiers

and were enjoying a greatwelcome there, when theAbbe Suger came to theirapartmentinthecastlewherethey had been givenhospitality, and it was clearfrom his expression that hewasthebearerofillnews.

Hewasnotamantobreakbadnewsgently.

He bowed low. ‘Long livetheKing!’hesaid.

And Louis knew that hisfears were realised andEleonore that her ambitionwasachieved.

Her husband was now theKing and shewas theQueenofFrance.

‘So my father has gone,’saidLouisblankly.

‘He passed away in greatdiscomfort of body,’ said theAbbe.‘Buthispainsarepast.

Ifyouwouldobeyhiswishesyou will rule as he wouldhave wished - that is wiselyandwell.’

‘That I shall endeavour todo with all my heart andmind,’ replied Louisfervently.

The carefree honeymoonwasover though.Thereweretoomanywarringelementsinthe country for the youngLouis to be acceptedwithout

opposition.

It was not that the peopleof France wished to put upanotherkinginLouis’splace.Louis the Fat had kept themin order but he had notalwaysgiven themwhat theyconsidered their due. Nowthat a young andinexperiencedboywasonthethrone was the time todemandthoserights.

A fewdays after the news

of Louis VI’s death reachedthe wedding party there wasfurther news. This time of arisinginOrleans.

Abbe Suger told the newKingthatnowwasthetimetoassert his authority. How heacted nowwas of the utmostimportance. He must showhis people that while hewould be a benevolent rulerhe would be a firm one. Hemust say au revoir to his

brideandgowithallspeedtoOrleans and from there toParis.Eleonoreandhercourtshould follow him at amoreleisurelypace.

Louis, less disturbed byevents than a short whilebefore he would havebelieved possible, rode withhisarmytoOrleans.Hemustact in a kingly fashion; hewould not wish Eleonore todespisehimforheknew that

she, who was so strong andforcefulherself,wouldindeeddespiseweakness.Sohemustnotbeweak.

He prayed earnestly forwisdom to make the rightdecision and the strength toputitintoexecution.

He would carry a flowerEleonore had given him - arose from the gardens atOmbriere. She herself hadplucked it and pressed it.He

must carry it near his heartshehadtoldhim;hehadbeenenchantedwiththemixtureofromanticism and sensualitywhich made up his wife’scharacter, and her insistencethat the laws of chivalryshould be obeyed. Shefascinated him, shewhowassodeterminedtobetreatedasa tender woman and at thesame time so eager to beobeyed. She would expecthimtocomethroughthisnew

ordealwithhonour.

So he rode at the head ofhistroops,andhowdelightedhe was that the citizens ofOrleans, seeing him comewithhisarmy,quailedbeforehis might, and instead ofinsistingontheirduescravedpardon for their insolence inmaking demands to theirliegelord.

An easy conquest and hehadnodesiretobeharsh;his

advisers insisted that one ortwo leaders of the rebellionwere executed but he wouldnot allow others to bepunished. He even grantedsome of the reforms forwhich they had originallyasked.

The people of Orleanscheered him. In the verystreetswheretheyhadbandedtogether and sought a plotagainst him they now called:

‘ViveleRoi.’That matter was settled.

Louis rode on to Paris andthere he was joined byEleonore. The reunion wastender; they hadmissed eachothersadly.

‘Nowwemustthinkofthecoronation,’ declaredEleonore.

By December of that yearthe celebrations had been

planned and the great eventtookplace.

What a long way she hadcome in one short year!thought Eleonore withgratification.

ChapterII

PETRONELLEANDTHECOUNT

Shewasbrieflycontent.Shewas Queen of France, theleaderofthecourt,adoredbythe King, worshipped bythose whom she gathered

together that she mightinstruct them in the rules ofchivalry. She surroundedherself with poets andtroubadours.Towinfavouraman must be possessed ofexquisite manners; he mustknow the rules of theCourtsof Love; he must be able toexpress himself with graceand if hehad a good singingvoicesomuchthebetter.

She was the judge of the

literaryefforts;sheapplaudedor derided. During thesummerdaysshewouldsitinthe grounds of the castlesurrounded by young menand women, and she wouldimpart to them herphilosophyoflife.

The girls must obey her,admireherandemulateherasbest they could so that theywerepaleshadowsofherself,andshemightshinethemore

because of this. The youngmenmust all be in lovewithher,yearnforherfavoursandbereadytodiefor them,andshe would be gracious orremote; and nevermust theirpassion waver. They mustwrite their verses, sing theirsongs to her; they mustmingletalentwithdesire.Shewasdeterminedthatthecourtof France must be the mostelegantintheworld.

There was Petronellegrowingupveryquickly likea forced flower in this over-heated atmosphere. Menmade verses and sang theirsongs to her for after all shewas almost as beautiful asEleonore,andwashersister.

Howmuchmoreexcitingitwas to live at the court ofFrancethanthatofAquitaine,to be aQueen instead of theheiress of a Duke, providing

hedidnotgethimselfason.

It had worked out verywell.

Petronelle, followingEleonore in all things, wasgrowing more and moreimpatientofheryouth.

‘WeshouldfindahusbandforPetronelle,’saidEleonoretotheKing.

‘Why, she is a child yet,’saidLouis.PoorblindLouis,

thought Eleonore, the Kingwhoknewsolittle!

‘Some reach maturityearlier than others. MethinksPetronellehasreachedhers.’

‘Think you so then?Mayhap you should talk toher, prepare her. She shouldbe awakened gradually towhattakingahusbandwouldmean.Itcouldbeashockforaninnocentgirl.’

Eleonore smiled but shedid not tell him of theconversations she andPetronelle had together, andhad had for many years.Petronellewasnoinnocent.Avirgin perhaps but how longwould she remain so if theydidnotgethermarried?

Louis judged others byhimself. His innocence wasattractive to her … at thistime…thoughshehadbegun

to wonder whether it wouldpall. Sometimes her gazewould stray to older men,men experienced, with manyanamorousadventurebehindthem,andshewasjustalittleimpatientwith the naivety ofher husband. But it stillamusedhertobetheleaderintheir relationship, to lurehimtopassionofwhichhewouldnever have believed himselfcapable.

So she did not enlightenhim about Petronelle. At thesametimeshebelieveditwastimetofindahusbandforhersister.

Petronellewasnotofanatureto wait for others to arrangeheraffairs.

Like her sister she lovedthe sensuous strumming ofthe musical instruments andthe languorouswords hinting

atlove.

To be young wasfrustrating. It always hadbeen. And having afascinating sister such asEleonore did not help her tobearherlotmoreeasily.

Eleonorehadpromisedherthatshewouldfindahusbandforher, but theKing thoughtshewastooyoungasyet.

‘Too young,’ groaned

Petronelle. ‘The Kingbelieves everyone to be ascold-bloodedashimself.’

‘Have patience, littlesister,’cautionedEleonore.‘Iam not of that opinion. Iknow that if we do not giveyouahusband soonyouwilltakealover.Buthaveacare.It is always wiser to have ahusband first. That wouldseem toentitleyou to lovers.But a lover first… I believe

that might be a littleshocking.’

‘Youarealwayssingingoflove,’criedPetronelle.‘Whatistheuseofthat?’

Eleonorecouldonlyrepeather caution, adding: ‘Havepatience.’

Sheherselfhadlittleofthatuseful virtue. She wantedexcitement.Wasshegrowingtired of holding court, of

spending her nights with herseriousyounghusband?

While she was ponderingonhowsoonshecouldfindasuitable husband forPetronelle and get the girlsafely married, there weresignsofunrestinthecountry.She had always beeninterested in increasing herpowerandtheelevationfromDuchess to Queen hadenthralledher.Ithadbeenthe

dream of many a King ofFrance toextendhis territorythroughouttheentirecountry.Normandy, of course, wasfirmly in the hands of theKing of England - well,perhaps not firmly, for theCount ofAnjouwould neveraccept the fact that it didnotbelong to his wife, Matilda,and as they had a son,naturally they would wish torestoreittohim.

At this time Stephen ofBloishad taken thecrownofEngland, and it seemed verylikely that he would hold italthough Englandwas not ina very happy state. Matilda,whommanybelievedwasthetrue heiress, for she was thedaughter of the late KingHenry I, whereas Stephenwas merely his nephew,wouldneverceasetourgeherhusband and son to bestirthemselves to get back their

dues.

Suffice it then thatEleonore and Louis leaveNormandy out of theircalculations. But what ofToulouse? The fact that theCounts of Toulouse assertedthat theywere the true rulersof that province had alwaysrankled with Eleonore. Hergrandfather had marriedPhilippa of Toulouse, andEleonore maintained that

through this marriageToulouse had passed toAquitaine.

Eleonore discussed thiswithLouis.Hesawthepoint.

‘Mindyou,’hetemporised,‘I doubt whether the Countwouldagreewithus.’

‘It is not amatter for himto agree or disagree about.The fact is I have a right toToulouse through my

grandfather’s marriage and Isee no reason why I shouldwaiveit.’

‘Whydidyourgrandfatherand father never take it?’askedLouis.

Eleonore shruggedimpatiently.Shedidnotwishto recall that neither herfathernorhergrandfatherhadbeen noted for their successinbattle.Herfatherhadbeensomewhat inept politically

andhergrandfatherhadbeenmore interested in theconquest of women thanterritory.

She however was moreambitious. Within her therestill burned the resentmentengendered by her father’sdesire to displace a forcefulyoung woman, possessed ofall the attributes a rulershould have, for the sake ofan unborn child merely

becausehemightbeaboy.

‘Thefactthattheyallowedothers totakethatwhichwastheirs does notmean thatweshould.’

Louis was uneasy. Shecouldhaveshakenhim.

‘But Toulouse has beenindependentformanyyears.’

‘Iknow,Iknow!Whenmygrandfather went crusadinghe put it into the care of

RaymondSaint-Gilles.Itwastobeatemporarymeasure.’

‘But ithas remained inhisfamilyeversince.’

How impatient he madeher! She frowned and thenallowed her smile to becometenderly exasperating. ‘Mydear, dear Louis, you are sogentle, always ready todefend your enemies. I loveyoufor it,ofcourse,but it isnowaytorule.’

He could not endure herdisappointment in him. Shehadensnaredhimcompletely.Sometimes he wonderedwhether she had given himone of those potions she hadoncementioned.Hecouldnotbear that she should notadmire him. It was true thatheneededtobewar-like.Hisfatherhadwarnedhimthathemust be strong and that itmightbedoublyhardforhim,broughtupashehadbeen to

beapriest.

‘What do you suggest wedo,Eleonore?’

Hersmilewasradiant.

‘Firstyouwillsummonallyour vassals to court. Thereyou will tell them that youintend to wage war onToulouseforwhatbelongstothe Crown through yourmarriage shall be brought toit.Youwilltellthemthatyou

expect - nay demand - theirsupport. It is your due andtheir duty.Are they not yourvassals?’

‘Eleonore, I confess thethought of going to wardisturbsme.’

‘That is a feeling youwillhavetoovercome,myKing.’

‘Of course I have youalwaysatmyside.’

She took his hand and

smileddazzlingly.

‘Always,’sheassuredhim,‘tohelpandcomfortyou.’

He certainly felt muchcomforted.

In the gardenswere gatheredaboutEleonoretheladiesandgentlemenofthecourt.Therewere young girls whosefamilieshadsent them to theQueen to be schooled in all

the graces andaccomplishments they couldfind nowhere else. Eleonoredelighted in these youngpeople. Her love of powerwas, even in this small way,satisfied.Theseyoungpeopleregardedher as their teacher.Under her guidance theymade theirgowns; theysang,they composed music andsongs; and they learned toplay chess. Eleonore couldnotbeartheilliteratenearher.

Sheherselfhadbeentaughttoread and write and shebelievedittobeanimportantpartofeverygirl’s education-aswellas thatofboys.Shewas determined that thereshould be no discriminationagainsther sex.Neverwouldsheforgetthatshecouldhavebeen diverted from a verybrilliant future merelybecauseshewasfemale.

These hours when she

ruledoverherownlittlecourtwere her relaxation. Anyonewho composed a poem or asongwould submit it for herapproval; she would thenhave it readaloudor sungasthecasemightbe,anddeliverjudgement.

She was determined touphold chivalry and thismeant the adoration of thefemale. A man must beprepared to woo the lady of

his choice; he must begrateful for her smiles; hemust be prepared to wait forthe fulfilment of love. Hemustfightforhisladyanddiefor her if need be. This wastheessenceofromanticlove.

Eleonore was sensuous intheextremebuthersensualitywastingedwithromance.Shewas as deeply aware of thevirile men of her little courtastheywereofher.Oftenshe

allowed herself to imaginetaking them as lovers. Thatwould have given herimmense satisfaction. Howsad that a queen could notindulge in such romanticattachments. The duty of aqueenwastoprovidetheheirto the throne and even she -law unto herself that shemight be - was aware thattheremust be no doubt as tothe paternity of the heir ofFrance.

There was one man whoattracted her very much andthis was Louis’s cousinRaoul, the Count ofVermandois. He was notexactly young; but he had apowerful personality and areputation for his conquestsnotonlyinwarbutinlove.

Often he would sit atEleonore’s feet and woo herwith his eyes, his gesturesand the longing in his voice.

There was no doubt thatRaoul was inviting her tothrow aside her scruples. Hedid not actually say so; hewaswiseenoughtoknowthatin Eleonore’s courts of lovethere must be no crudity.Hintswere farmore excitingthan bald words; and he hadmade his feelings clearthroughthose.

Eleonorelikedhimtositather feet while his eyes

glittered with passion. Sheliked to imagine herselfindulging in love-makingwith such a partner; howdifferent he would be fromLouis! Poor Louis! He wasnotan imaginative lover; shemust always be the leadingspirit.All verywell at times,but it would be amusing,intriguing and quite thrillingon some occasions to feelherselfmastered.

Alas, she must rememberthat she had to bear the heirofFrance.

Raoul continued to adoreher with his eyes; his low-pitched voice continued tolure her to indiscretion. Sheresisted. He was a littleimpatient. He enjoyedwooingtheQueenbuthewasbeginning to realise that hewould never do so withsuccess … not at least until

she was pregnant by Louisandcouldsafelytakealover.Such a matter could not ofcourse be mentioned in theromantic atmosphere ofEleonore’s court; though itwas in hismind and perhapshers,buthecouldnotbesureofthat.

PoorLouis,thoughtRaoul.Itmaybethatheisincapableofbegettingchildren.Perhapsonedayshewouldbewilling

to let him be supplanted forthat reason. Eleonore was ashrewd woman; she had fewscruples he was sure, or atleast if she had some nowthey would be eliminatedgiven the appropriatecircumstances.Buthewasanimpatient man. Although hecontinued to worship atEleonore’sfeethiseyesoftenstrayed and thus it was thatthey alighted on Petronelle,Eleonore’s young sister.

What an enchanting creatureshe was! thought Raoul.Almost as beautiful asEleonore herself, and he’dswear as desirous. The morehe thought of Petronelle themoreenchantedhewas.

Petronelle might beinexperienced but she wascertainly not withoutknowledge; she knew themeaningoftheardentglanceshe sent in her direction. As

she was not the Queen ofFrancesheneednotentertaina queen’s scruples; she wasvery young; she wasunmarried,possiblyavirgin-he, the connoisseur, believedthis might well be so,although it was a state fromwhichthegirlwaslongingtoescape. A little dangerous inview of her relationshipwiththe Queen, and the fact ofcourse that she had nohusband.Hewasaboldman;

he had been frustrated toolongbyPetronelle’ssister.Hewould see how far he couldgo.

He waylaid Petronelle inthealleywaysofthegarden.

‘What a delightfulsurprise,’hecriedashecametowardsher.

‘Is it such a surprise, mylord?’ asked Petronelle, herhead on one side, gaily

provocative.

‘WellIwilladmittoalittlestrategy.’

‘It isalwayswise toadmitthatwhichisalreadyknown.’

She had no doubt learnedherreparteefromhersister.

‘What joy to see youalone.’

‘Why? Do I appeardifferent alone than when in

thecompanyofothers?’

‘Yes.DoItoyou?’

‘NaturallyImustfeelsomealarm remembering yourreputation.’

‘Ah,reputation!Howcruelit can be! How false! Howunfair!’

‘Have people been unfairtoyou,mylord?’

‘Somuchwoulddependon

whattheysaidofme.’

‘Theysayyouhaveknownmanyconquests.’

‘I have committed myselfwith honour in battle, Ibelieve.’

‘Andinthebattleoflove?’

‘I do not regard love as abattle.’

‘Yet people talk ofconquests.’

‘Perhaps I myself am indangerofbeingconquered?’

‘By your lady wife nodoubt. And I believe mysister the Queen to have hadsomeeffectonyou.’

‘Sometimes it is not as itappears.’

‘Iunderstandyounot.’

Hetookastepnearertoherand grasped her hand.‘Sometimes one does not

look in the direction of thesun. It is too dazzling. Oneavertstheeyes.’

‘Areyoulookingatthesunnow,mylordCount?’

‘Rightinitsface.’

‘I trust you are blinded byit.’

‘Blinded to indiscretion.Made mad by it.’ He seizedhersuddenlyandkissedher.

Petronelle gave anexclamation of what shemeant to sound like dismay,and breaking away fromhimran through the alley to amore public place in thegardens.

Thiswasabeginning.

Count Theobald ofChampagnehadarrivedatthecourt of France. He was amanwhohadareputationfor

governing his province withwisdom; he was a goodsoldierandLouishadcountedon his help for carrying onthe campaign againstToulouse.

Eleonore was with theKing when he received theCount. She made a point ofbeing present at suchmeetings for she wanted theworld to know that Francehadaqueenaswellasaking.

‘Welcome to Paris,’ saidLouis.‘Itrustyouareingoodhealth.’

‘Neverbetter,Sire.’

‘And ingood fettle for thefight.’

‘Ifyouarereferringtothismatter of Toulouse, Sire, Icouldnotaidyouinthis.Idonot think it would have theblessingofGod.’

Eleonore was frowning.

‘Perhaps you will explain,’shesaidcoldly.

TheCountbowed.‘Indeed,Madame. I would not allymyself with it because Iwould consider it unjust totheCountofToulouse.’

‘Unjust to wrest from aman that to which he clingswhen he has no right to doso!’

‘Itwouldseem thathehas

the rights of ownership, mylady.’

‘Do you know thatToulouse came to mygrandfather throughmarriageandthathesetupSaint-Gillesas a custodian during hisabsenceonacrusade?’

‘If that were so I cannotunderstand why it was notreclaimederethis,mylady.’

‘Becausethematterhasnot

been resolved until now, butthatisnoreasonwhyitnevershouldbe.’

‘I see many reasons, mylady.’

‘You forget that you riskthe displeasure of your KingandQueen.’

The Count bowed andbeggedleavetoretire.

When he had goneEleonore burst out in fury:

‘The insolent dog!Howdarehetelluswhatourdutyis!’

‘He has a right to expressanopinion,’Louismildlytoldher.

‘Are you a king? Am I aqueen? Shall we be insultedinourowncastle? I tellyou,mylordCountofChampagnewillbesorryforthis.’

Louis tried to soothe her,but she would not be

placated.

Theobaldwent to his sister’sapartments.Shewas thewifeof Raoul, the Count ofVermandois, and he foundhermelancholy.

Theobald felt equally so.He had not liked the tone ofthe Queen’s voice when shehad expressed herdisappointment in his refusalto support the campaign

againstToulouse.

‘Well, Eleonore,’ he said,for his sister bore the samenameastheQueen,‘youlooka little sad. Is Raoulunfaithfulagain?’

His sister Eleonoreshruggedher shoulders. ‘It isnotanunusualoccurrence.’

‘I regret that marriage,’said theCount, ‘even thoughhe is Louis’s cousin.Who is

Raoul’slatestinamorata?’

‘I don’t know. I have nottriedtofindout.SometimesIthink it better to remain inignorance.’

‘He should not treat youso.’

‘Of course he should not,butthatdoesnotpreventhim.Iknowthatheisindulginginaloveaffairwhichgiveshimgreatpleasure.Itisconducted

in secrecy of course. Somewomanwho is deceiving herhusbandIdoubtnot,asRaoulisdeceivingme.’

‘Youwillneverchangehisnature,Eleonore.’

‘I fear not. He will chasewomenaslongashehaslegstocarryhim.’

‘I will have a word withhim.’

Sheshookherhead.‘Better

not. Perhaps it is the fate ofpeoplesuchaswearetohaveunfaithful husbands.SometimesIthinkitwouldbebetter if we were morehumblyborn.Thinkhowourfamilyisscattered.Childhoodseems so short and if one isthe youngest of a big familytheolderoneshavelefthomebeforeoneisawareofthem.IoftenthinkofStephen.’

‘Ah,theKingofEngland,’

saidTheobald. ‘Yes, thinkofhim often and pray for him.AsKingofEnglandheneedsyourprayers.’

‘I remember the rejoicingthere was within the familywhenhetookthecrown.’

‘Yes,’ mused Theobald.‘And the lamenting when itseemed that Matilda wouldsnatchitfromhim.’

‘I would we could see

moreofhim. It isonlywhenhe visits Normandy that Ihavethatopportunity.’

‘Poor Stephen, perhaps acrownisamixedblessing.’

‘You thought that,Theobald. You had morerighttothecrownofEnglandthan Stephen. You were theelder son of our mother andthe Conqueror was yourgrandfather just as much ashewasStephen’s.’

‘Stephenhadbeenbroughtup in England. There wasclearly a time when KingHenrythoughtofmakinghimhisheir.’

‘There would not havebeenthosedistressingwarsinEnglandifMatilda’shusbandhad not died and she hadremainedinGermany.’

‘Yet she was the King’sdaughterandmanywouldsaythe true heir. Stephen is our

brother and I would supporthim with all I have, butMatilda was in fact theKing’sdaughterandindirectline of succession. Onecannotgetawayfromthat.’

‘PoorStephen.Ihopeheishappy.What burdens he hastobear!’

‘He has a good wife. Nomancouldhaveabetter.’

‘Yet he is not faithful to

her.Areanymenfaithful?’

Theobaldpressedherhand.‘Do not take Raoul’sinfidelity too much to heart.That is his way. Stephen’squeen must perforce acceptthis.Trytoforgetit.’

‘It is something which isalways with me, Theobald,butIlikenotthatyoushouldhavedispleasedtheQueen.’

‘TheKingtoo,Ifear.’

‘Oh, it is the Queen whocounts. She rules the court;she wishes to enlarge thekingdom of France that shemay becomemore and morepowerful. I think she mightbearevengefulwoman.’

‘I shall know how toprotect myself and my landsEleonore.TheKing is youngandinexperienced.Itisapitythey married him to such aforcefulwoman.Abbe Suger

is a wiseman and Louis theFatlefthissoningoodhands… apart from those of hiswife. But who would haveexpectedagirlinherteenstotake so much interest inaffairs.’

‘The Queen is a womanwhointendstorule.ShallyougobacktoChampagnenow?’

‘Yes. I felt I must comeand put my case before theKing. It isalwayswisewhen

one disagrees to state one’sreasonsinperson.’

‘Then I will wish youfarewell, brother. It has donemegoodtoseeyou.IwouldIcouldseeStephen.’

‘Donotwishthat.Itwouldmean trouble doubtless inNormandyifhewerehere.’

‘There is constant troubleinNormandy.’

‘And will be for years to

come,Ifear.Anjouisquietatthe moment, but his son isgrowing up. They say youngHenry Plantagenet is quite awarrior already and that hewillnotonlywantNormandy,butEnglandaswell.’

‘More wars … moretroubles!’

‘Somust it be when thereare too many claimants to athrone. Look at this troublenow … with Toulouse. But

never fear, Eleonore. TheKing, I am convinced, haslittle stomach for war.Doubtless this affair ofToulousewillblowover.Idonot think I shall be the onlyone who does not wish tofollowhimtowar.’

Thebrotherandsistertookfarewellofeachother.

The Queen watched theCountofChampagnerideoffattheheadofhiscavalcade.

‘Cursehim,’saidEleonore.‘How dare he flout theQueen. He shall suffer forthis.’

Darkness had fallen over thecastle. Petronelle wrapped acloak round her and slippedoutintothefreshnightair.

No one would recogniseher if they saw her. Theywould think she was somelady of the house bent on an

assignation, which would bethe truth, but they wouldnever suspect she was theQueen’syoungsister.

Petronelle knew she wasbeingboldandwayward;shewas inviting dishonour. Butwhat could she do? WhenRaoul embraced her she wasweak and yielding; she hadalready half promised anddrawnback.Shehadcried:‘IcannotandIdarenot.’

Andhehad tenderlybittenherearandwhisperedintoit:‘Butyoucanandyoudare.’

She had known that therewould be eventual surrender.Was that not what the songswereabout?Theywereaboutwooing and romance andknights who died for theirladies, but it was so muchmore inviting to love than todie. Death was horrible withitsbloodandpain.Lovewas

beautiful; there was desireand passion and the intensesatisfaction of fulfilmentwhich she had yet toexperience.

And shewould experiencethatbefore long.Theywouldmarryhersoon.Supposetheymarriedhertosomeimpotentoldmanjustbecauseitwouldbe good for State reasons.TheyhadmarriedEleonoretoLouis. True hewas theKing

but he was not really veryattractive. He was what theycalled a laggard in all thatmattered. Eleonore had asmuch as said so. If theymarried her to someone shedidnotfancyshewouldhavelovers. She would selectsomeonelikeRaoul…

Raoul! She was going tomeet him now, and this timethere would be no holdingback. He would not allow

that.Hehadsaidhalfangrilylast time: ‘I have waited toolong.’Andshehadthrilledtothatangrynoteinhisvoice.

This time there would benoholdingback.

He was waiting for her intheshrubbery.

His arms were round her,holdingherfirmly.

‘Raoul,Idarenot

‘Iknowtheplace.Come.’

‘Imustgoback.’

Buthewaslaughingather.

Shesaid:‘Mysisterwillbefurious. Do you not care fortheQueen’sanger?’

‘TonightIcarefornothingbutthis,’heanswered.

Shepretended topullbackbut she knew and he knewthatitwasmerepretence.

Theyfoundasecludedpartoftheshrubbery.

‘Others may come here,’sheprotested.

‘Nay, we shall beundisturbed.’

‘Imustgoback.’

‘Youmuststayhere.’

Hewas drawing her downtotheearth.

She said: ‘I have no help

buttosubmit.’

Eleonore was quickly awareofthechangeinhersisterandguessedthecause.

She summoned her to herbedchamber,andmakingsurethattheywerealoneshesaid,‘Youhadbettertellme.’

Petronelleopenedher eyesvery wide, assuminginnocence.

Eleonore took her by theshouldersandshookher.‘Donot feign innocencewithme,mychild.Whoistheman?’

‘Eleonore,I…’

‘And I know,’ saidEleonore. ‘You could nothideitfromme.Itisclear.Ifyoushoutedfromtheturret,Ihave a lover, you could notsayitmoreclearly.’

‘Idon’tseewhy…’

‘No, you are a child. Youare also foolish. You shouldhavewaitedformarriage.’

‘Asyoudid…’

‘AsIdid.YouknowIwasa virgin when I marriedLouis.ItwasnecessarythatIshouldbe.Nowweshallhaveto find a husband for you.Who is your lover? Perhapswe can marry you to himwithoutdelay.IwillspeaktotheKing.’

Petronelle stammered:‘That’simpossible.’

‘Whyso?’

‘He … he is marriedalready.’

‘Youlittlefool!’

‘I couldn’t help it,Eleonore.Ididn’tmeanto.Atfirst it was only a kind ofplay-acting … like singingthesongsand talkingof love…andthen…’

‘I know. You cannot tellme anything I don’t knowabout such matters. Youshould have consulted meabout it. You should havetold me that he was makingadvances.Whoishe?’

‘Raoul…’

‘The Count ofVermandois!’

Petronellenodded.

Eleonore felt a wave of

fury. Raoul who hadpretendedtoadmireher,whohad implied that only shecould satisfy him, that allother women were of nomoment to him! And all thetime he was making love tohersister!

‘Idon’tbelieveit.Why,heisold…’

‘He is tenyearsolder thanyouare.Thatisnotmuchinaman.’

‘And you submitted tohim.’

Petronelle held her headhigh. ‘I did and I don’t care.I’ddoitagain.Sowouldyouifyouweren’tmarried to theKing.’

Eleonore shook her sisterangrily.‘Don’tforgetyouaretalking to the Queen. I ammindful of my duty. Youhavebehaved likea slutof aserving-girl.’

‘Then many ladies of thecourt do the same. They sitwith you and talk in a high-minded way about love, andthen by night they are withtheirlovers.Poetryandsongsare no substitute for love-making,andyouknowit.’

‘Soyouwould instructus!But let us not waste time inrecriminations.Youcouldnotwait for marriage. That iswhatwemustconsider.’

‘I love Raoul,’ saidPetronellefirmly.

‘And he loves you, Isupposeyou’lltellme.’

‘Ohyes,ohyes.’

‘But not enough to saveyoufromhislust.’

‘It was love,’ saidPetronnelleecstatically.

‘And he knew to whatdisaster he was leading you.

Heknewhewasmarriedandsodidyou.Heismarried…’She stopped suddenly and aslow smile spread across herface.

‘… he is married,’ shewent on slowly, ‘to thatwomanwhosharesmyname.She is the sister of ourhaughty Theobald ofChampagne.’

‘Hedoesnotloveher,’saidPetronelle quickly. ‘Theirs

hasbeenamarriagewhich isnomarriage. It is years sincethey were lovers. She doesnotunderstandhimatall.’

‘So he told you, sister. Acommon complaint of thewayward husband. All shecannotunderstandiswhysheshould be expected to befaithful while he philanderswherehewill.ItissomethingI do not understand either.Sufficeityouarenolongera

virgin.Andthatisdeplorable.Iwill speak to theKing.Wemustgetyoumarriedwithoutdelay.’

‘If you married me tosomeone else I would nevergiveupRaoul.’

‘And what if it werepossibletomarryRaoul?’

Petronelle clasped herhandsecstatically.

‘Oh,ifitbutwere!’

‘Iwillexplorethematter.’

The Queen received Raoul,Count of Vermandois, verycoldly. She did not give himpermissiontosit.

‘Iamdispleased,’shesaid.

‘Not with me, I trust, mylady.’

‘With whom else! I knowaboutyouandmysister.Shehasconfessed tome thatyou

haveseducedher.Whathaveyoutosay?’

‘Thatamandazzledbythesun turns for consolation tothemoon.’

‘Therehavebeentoomanymetaphorsconcerningthesunandmoon.Ihavehadenoughof them. Are you implyingthat finding me unobtainableyouturnedtomysister?’

Hebowedhishead.

‘My sister will not bepleasedifItellherthat.’

‘Your magnanimity anddiscretion would not allowyouto.’

‘I never allow anyone oranythingtopreventmydoingwhatIwish.’

‘You are the law and it isour will to obey you. Whatwould you have me do, myQueen?SayitandIwilldoit

ordieintheattempt.’

‘ItisnotexactlyoneofthelaboursofHercules.’

‘I would it were that Imightshowmydevotion.’

‘You should take care. Imight set you someimpossibletaskoneday.’

‘Nothing could strain memorethantobenearyouandnotallowedtoloveyou.’

‘Youdonotspeak like theprospective bridegroom ofanotherwoman.’

‘Bridegroom!’ He wasalert. ‘My lady, alas I ammarried.’

‘To a lady of whom Igatheryouarenotdesperatelyenamoured.’

‘She is my wife. When Iam in the presence of theirresistible I must perforce

succumb.’

‘Areyoureferringtomeortomysister?’

‘You know my feeling. Iam not alone in myadoration.’

‘And Petronelle? You areinlovewithher?’

‘She resembles you. WhatmorecanIsay?’

‘That ifyouwere freeyou

wouldagreetomarryher?’

‘Withallmyheart.’

‘Idonot ask ifyouwouldbeafaithfulhusbandtoher.Iknow the futilityof that.Shehasafancyforyou.’

‘IwouldIwerefree.’

‘Youcouldbeiftherewerea blood tie between you andyourwife.’

‘Iknownot…’

‘You are obtuse, Count.There are always blood tiesbetween families of ourblood. So much inter-marrying through thecenturies means that if wesearch back far enough wecanfindtheconnection.’

‘Ifthiscouldbefound…’

‘If ! It can be found. Itmust be found. You haveseduced my sister. For all Iknow she may already be

with child. You areresponsible. Forget not thatsheisthesisteroftheQueen.Wouldyoumarryher?’

‘If just cause could befound that I am not alreadymarried.’

‘Then found it shall be,’said the Queen firmly. Shewas smiling to herself.Certainly Petronelle mustmarry her seducer; and howamusing that Raoul’s wife

was the sister of her enemyTheobald. This would teachthat family to flout the KingandQueen.

It was disconcerting. CountTheobald was not the onlybaronwhoignoredtheKing’ssummons. It should havebeen clear that the countrywasinnomoodtogotowarover Toulouse. The onlyenthusiasm came from the

Queen and that which sheimparted to her docilehusband.EleonorerodeoutofParis beside her husbandready for the siege whichwould bring Toulouse intotheir hands. Eleonore wasbusy with plans; she hadalready traced the relationbetween Raoul and his wife.If one went back far enoughtherewerealwaysblood ties.She had set the bishopsworkingon it and theyknew

that if theydidnot findwhatshe wished them to theywouldincurherdispleasure.

Louishad reallyvery littleheartforwar.Hehateddeath,nordidhewishtopunishhispeople. When he had beenvictorious at Orleans he hadgrantedhisrebellioussubjectswhat theyhadasked for, andhad stopped what heconsidered the cruel law ofcuttingoffpeople’sfingersif

they did not pay their debts.Ofwhatusewasthat,hehaddemanded, when they needtheir hands intact to work topayofftheirdebts?

The thought of innocentpeople’s suffering worriedhim; but what could he do?Eleonore insisted thatToulouse was hers andtherefore his, and she couldnot forget the insolence ofTheobaldofChampagne.

‘Arewegoingtoallowoursubjectstotreatusthus?’shehad demanded. ‘If sowe arenorulers.’

He had had to agree withher; he always had to agreewith her. So here he wasmarchingonToulouse.

Into the rich country theywent. Louis’s spirits wererevived. Of course he wouldlike to add these fertileprovinces to his kingdom.

Eleonore’s eyes glowed. Hewonderedwhether it was thesightof the landwhichmadethem so bright and eager, orthefulfilmentofrevenge.Shewas so sure that ere longToulouse would be theirs.Shewould have subdued notonly the Count of Toulousewhohadrefusedtohandbackthattowhichhehadnoright,but also the insolentTheobald.Andwhenheheardthat his sister was to be

divorced from the Count ofVermandois he would bedoublyhumiliated!

He would see what itmeant to defy the Queen ofFrance-andsowouldothers.Itwouldbealesson.

Alas, for Louis andEleonore. Toulousewaswelldefended,anditsoonbecamecleartoLouisthateventhosewhohadralliedtohisbannerhadnoheartforthefight.

As he encamped outsidethe castle occupied byRaymond Saint-Gilles, groupafter group of his followersreminded him that they hadagreed to fight with him foronly a specified time. Timewas running out and theymustreturntotheirestates.

Louiswasdisturbed.

‘Command them to stay!’criedEleonore.

But Louis had given hisword. He was not a man tobreakthat.HemuststandoutagainstEleonore for the sakeofhishonour.

ThusitwastheKingfoundhimselfbeforethecastlewithscarcely any supporters, anditwaseitheracaseof retreator ignominious defeat. As itwas he must retire inhumiliation.

There was nothing for it

but to return to Paris andshelve the conquest ofToulouse, until theKing andQueen could find somemeans of bringing it to theCrown.

Such a situation wasgalling to the Queen. Sheimagined Saint-Gilles andTheobald of Champagnesneering at the royalineptitude.

Shemust be revenged and

the first blow should bestruck through Theobald’ssister.Herbishopshadfoundthat there was a bloodrelationship between Raouland his wife. Therefore themarriage was no truemarriage andRaoulwas freetomarryagain.

‘Itisagoodthing,’saidtheQueentotheKing,‘thatyourcousinshouldmarrywithmysister.’

The Count of Champagnewas amazed one day to seehis sister with a few of herattendants ride into thecourtyard of his castle. Hehasteneddowntomeether.

‘Why Eleonore,’ he cried,‘whatbringsyouhere?’

For a moment she couldnot answer him. She threwherself into his arms andclungtohim.

‘I did not know where togo.’

‘Whereisyourhusband?’

‘Ihavenohusband.’

‘Comeintothecastle,’saidTheobald. ‘Tellmewhat thismeans.Raoulisdead?’

‘Nay,’ she answered. ‘It issimply that he is no longermyhusband.’

‘But this makes nonsense.

You were married to him. Imyself attended theceremony. Come, sister, youmustcalmyourself.’

He took her to his privatechamber and she poured outher story. A blood tie hadbeen discovered that meanthermarriagetoRaoulwasnotvalid.ShewasnotmarriedtoRaoul; had never beenmarriedandtheceremonyshehadgone throughwithRaoul

was no true one at all.Moreover Raoul hadmarriedsomeoneelse.TherehadbeenagrandweddingandtheKingandQueenhadattended.

‘Who was the bride?’askedTheobaldblankly.

‘TheladyPetronelle.’

‘What! The Queen’ssister?’

‘Indeed yes, the Queen’ssister.’

‘This is monstrous. It is aplot.’

Eleonorenoddedsadly.

Theobald was furious. Itwasnotonlythedishonourtohis sister that he ragedagainst;itwasaninsulttohisfamily. The Queen hadarranged this he knew. Shehad insisted that the bishopsprove the marriage invalidandtheyhaddonesoonpainof her displeasure. And why

hadshecontrivedthis?Toberevengedonhim.Becausehehad refused to support herand the King over theannexation of Toulouse, shehad arranged for his sister’sdishonour.

‘Iwill not endure this,’ hesaid. ‘This day I will send amessenger to Rome. I shallputmy case before the Popeanditwillbeprovedthatthiswas a plot to discredit me

throughyou,sister.’

‘And you think the Popewill not agree to thedissolutionofthemarriage?’

‘Howcanhe?The reasonsput forward are groundless. Iwill make Raoul take youback. I will prove that hismarriagetoPetronellewasnomarriage.Shewillbetheoneto suffer dishonour, not you,mysister.’

‘Raoul was eager to go tohisnewwife,Iknow.’

‘He will be begging tocome back to you when Ihave the Pope’s word.’Theobald was not a man todelay when action wasnecessary.

He asked the advice ofBernard of Clairvaux whosuggested that he take hiscase immediately to Romewithanaccountofthewrong

donetohissister.

Petronelle was content withher marriage. She glowedwith satisfaction. Watchingher Eleonore felt a littlediscontented with her own.True it had brought her thecrown of France and shewould not have missed thatforanything,butshedidwishithadbroughtheramanlikeRaoul insteadofamonk like

Louis.

Shemust get an heir. Thecountryneededanheirandsodid she. The purpose ofmarriage for such as herselfwas the procreation ofchildren. She could notendure thatsheshouldfail inanything.

She was in a mood ofdiscontent when themessenger arrived fromRome.

He brought letters for theKing and the Count ofVermandois.

Eleonore made a point ofbeing with Louis when heread his. They were verymuch to the point. The Popefound that there had been amiscarriage of justice. TheCountofVermandoishadputaway his true wife on theinstigation of the Queen andthe bishops and married the

Queen’s sister. The Popecould findno just causewhythemarriage of theCount ofVermandois and the sister oftheCountofChampagnewasnot legal. The Count ofVermandois wasexcommunicated andorderedto put away thewomanwithwhomhewasnowlivingandreturntohiswife.

Eleonorewasfurious.

‘This is an insult to my

sister,’ she cried. ‘Does HisHoliness realise that? Thesisterof theQueenofFrance…!’

Louis said mildly, ‘Mydearest,weshouldneverhaveallowed Raoul to put awayhiswife.’

‘Hiswife!Thatwasnotruemarriage. They are toocloselyrelated.’

The King looked at her

sadly.

‘You have allowed yourlove for your sister to blindyou,’ he said. ‘Petronelleshouldhavelookedelsewhereforahusband.’

‘He is her husband. Shehas lived openly with him.Do you realise what thismeans? Who will want tomarryhernow?’

‘Many I think would wish

foranalliancewith thesisteroftheQueenofFrance.’

‘I’ll not endure thisinsolence.’

‘This is the edict of thePope,mylove.’

‘You know who has donethis. It is Theobald. He wasdeterminedtofloutus.I’llnotrest until I have driven himfromChampagne.’

‘Champagne is his, my

dear. It is independent ofFrance.’

The Queen narrowed hereyes. ‘Louis, sometimes Ithinkyoudonotloveme.’

‘You cannot doubt that Ido.’

‘Yet you allow me to beinsulted.’

‘Theobald has done onlywhatanybrotherwouldhavedone.Hehastriedtopreserve

hissister’shonour.’

‘And what of my sister’shonour?’

‘Itwasunwisetomarryhertomycousin.’

‘Unwise! He had no wife,his marriage to Theobald’ssister being invalid. Whyshouldn’tthey,whohadbeenlovers,sanctifytheirunion!’

‘Because he already had awife.’

‘Hehadnot,Itellyou.Themarriage was illegal. He ismarried to Petronella andwearegoingtoteachTheobaldalesson.’

‘Howso?’

‘Weshallinvadehislands.We shall raze his castles totheground.ItellyouwewillberevengedonTheobald.’

‘We should have nosupport.’

‘Thenwewilldoitwithoutsupport. I have my loyalsubjects of Aquitaine. Theywould followme wherever Iwishedtogo.’

‘Nay, Eleonore, let us notgorashlyintowar.’

Hereyesblazedathim.Hewasaweakling,amonk,andtheyhadmarriedhim toher!He had little to give her buthercrown.

Andhewasgoing toobeyher.

She was determined theyweregoingtowar.Theyweregoing to ravage the lands ofChampagne and teach itsdisobedient Count a lesson.Shewasfrustrated,marriedtoa man who could not satisfyherintenselongings.Shehadher crown from him but hadgrown accustomed to that

now,andshewantedastrongman whom she could findsome pleasure in subduing.Louiswastooeasilymanagedalthoughinthismatterofwarhe was proving obstinate. Itwould not be for long; shewould make him agreeshortly and there was acertain stimulation in urginghim. She enjoyed the battlewith himwhile his repulsiontowarinfuriatedher.

Petronelle and Raoul weresmugly content with eachother; and she wasdetermined that they shouldremain together.Shewasnotgoingtogiveway.

Meanwhile she badgeredLouis. Was he a coward?Was he going to allow littlerulers of small provinces tooutwit him?Would he standby and see the sister of hiswife dishonoured? It was

tantamount to dishonouringhiswife.

Louis implored her to bepatient, and then anothermatterarosewhichdemandedhisattention.

The Archbishopric ofBourges had fallen vacantand Eleonore and Louis hadchosen the man who was tofill the post. He was ideal,beingafriendoftheirs.Thento their consternation a

messagecamefromthePopethat he had chosen Pierre delaChatrefortheoffice.

‘How dare he interfere inmatterswhichconcernusandus only!‘demanded theQueen.

Louis supported her. Hewas theKing. Itwas forhimto say who should be hisArchbishop.

‘Notso,’retortedthePope.

‘IhaveappointedPierredelaChatre and none other shallhaveit.’

Louis, prompted byEleonore,repliedthataslongas he lived de la ChatreshouldnotenterBourges.

Then the Pope made aremark which when reportedtoLouisraisedhisanger.

‘The King of France is achild,’ said the Pope. ‘He

must get schooling and bekeptfrombadhabits.’

‘You see,’ cried Eleonorewhenthiswasreported,‘theyhaveno respect foryou. It isbecause you allow people toinsult you. You have beenover-lenient. Look atTheobald of Champagne. Ifyou had marched into hiscountry and laid it waste thePopewould not have spokento you as though youwere a

schoolboy.’

Louiswas silent for a fewmomentsthenheburstout:‘Itwould have meant war.Killing brings such sufferingtoinnocentpeople.’

‘A fine way for a king totalk,’ commented Eleonorescornfully.

Theobald played right intoher hands by supporting thePope’schoiceandlettingitbe

known.

Eleonore was furious.‘Whatnow?’shecried. ‘Willyoustandbyandallowthis?’

Louis knew that he couldnot, and when the Popeexcommunicated him heknew that he had to takeaction.

He prepared to march onChampagne in order tosubdue the Count who had

dared take sides against hisKing.

Eleonore rode out of Parisbeside her reluctant husband.There was to be war withChampagne and Louis knewthat such conflicts enrichedno one but the soldiers whoplundered and pillagedwhileinnocentpeoplesuffered.

The Queen however wasadamant and he had after

much persuasion agreed thatTheobald must be taught alesson.

It was not a veryimpressivearmythatmarchedinto Champagne. Manywanderingadventurers joinedit,andbecauseitwasnotverylarge the King was glad towelcome any who followedhim, even though he knewthey were out for the spoilswhichwouldcometheirway.

As they marched deeperintotheterrainofthemantheQueen detested, the rougherelements of the armyplunderedthevillagesagainsttheKing’sorder.Louisheardthe cries of protestingvillagers who sought toprotect their crops, theirhouses and their family. Hesaw his rough soldieryordering the villagers fromtheir houses, illtreating thewomen, raping, feasting,

drinking and acting in amanner of which he hadheard much and which hadmadehimhatethethoughtofwar.

He endeavoured to stoptheir cruelties; they did notheedhim.

Eleonore regarded himwithcontempt.Whatsortofaking was he whom menwould not obey and whoshuddered at the prospect of

war? She could onlyremember that this was theenemy’scountry.Sheexultedover the burning land. ThiswouldteachTheobaldwhatitmeant to flout his Kingbecause if that King wasweakhisQueenwasnot.

They had reached thewalledcityofVitry.

There was little defenceofferedandinashorttimetheKing’s men were in the

streets killing, pillaging,shedding the blood of itsinhabitants. The old and themaimed and the women andthe children ran screamingbefore the soldiers andbarricaded themselves intothewoodenchurch.

‘Enough, enough,’ criedLouis.Buthiscommandwasnotheeded.

His followers had come topillage and murder and they

couldnotberestrained.Therethen occurred a terribleincident which was to hauntthe King for the rest of hisdays.

Inside the church thechildren clung to theirmothers,andmothersbeggedfor the safety of their littleones. The King’s men knewnopity.Theydidnotattempttobreakintothechurch.Theymerelysetitonfire.

Astheflamesenveloped itand the thick black smokefilled the air the cries of theinnocent could be heardcalling curses on theirmurderers and screaming formercy.

‘Have done. Have done,’pleadedLouisbuttheywouldnot listentohim.Inanycaseitwastoolate.Inthatburningchurchwere thirteenhundredinnocent people and they

wereallburnedtodeath.

In his tent Louis lay staringblanklybeforehim.Eleonorelaybesidehim.

‘I can hear theirscreaming,’hesaid.

Sheanswered:‘Thereisnosound now. They are alldead.’

‘All dead!’ he cried.‘Thoseinnocentpeople.Holy

Mother of God help me! Ishall never be able to escapefromthesoundoftheircries.’

‘They should havedenounced their lord. Theyshouldhaveswornallegiancetoyou.’

‘They were innocentpeople. What did they knowofourquarrel?’

‘Youmusttrytosleep.’

‘Tosleep.IfIdo,Idream.

Icansmellthesmoke.Ishallnever be free of it. How thewoodcrackled!’

‘It was old and dry,’ shesaid.

‘And little children …They called curses on us.Imagineamother…withherlittleones.’

‘It is war,’ said Eleonore.‘It is not wise to brood onthesethings.’

But Louis could not stopbrooding.

He could not go on, hedeclared.

‘To give in nowwould bevictory for Theobald,’Eleonoreremindedhim.

‘I can’t help it,’ criedLouis. ‘I am sick ofwar andkilling.’

‘You should never havebeenaking.’

‘Youspeaktruth.MyheartisintheChurch.’

‘Which is no place for aking’shearttobe.’

‘Sometimes I think Ishould have refused to takethecrown.’

‘How could you, theKing’sson,havedonethat?’

‘Sometimes I thinkGod isnotpleasedwithme.Wehavebeen six years married and

havenochild.’

‘It is a long time towait,’agreedEleonore.

‘Is there something wehave done … or not done?Have I displeased God insome way?’ The Kingshivered. ‘I feel in my heartthat whatever we did beforethe burning of Vitry wasnothing compared with thatgreatsin.’

‘Stopthinkingofit.’

‘I can’t, I can’t,’ moanedtheKing.

Sheknewthathewouldbeuseless to command an armyinhispresentstate.

‘We should return toParis,’shesaid.

He was eager to agree.‘Yes,’heanswered.‘Disbandthe army. Go back. Call offthewar.’

‘That would be folly. Thearmywillstayhere.Weshallreturn.StatedutiescallyoutoParis.Thereyouwillrestandforget Vitry. You will learnthat it is what must beexpectedinwar.’

Thewarcontinued.Louiswasheartily sick of it butEleonore would not allowTheobald to have the chanceto say the King had been

forcedtoretirefromthefield.

The King’s ministersbegged him to considerwhatgoodtherewasincontinuing.Louiswouldhaveagreedbuthe dared not face Eleonore’swrath.

He could not understandhis feeling for her. It was asthoughhewereunderaspell.Whatever he might promiseto do, when she showed hercontemptforhisweaknesshe

alwaysgavewaytoher.

The Abbot of Clairvaux,whohadprophesiedthedeathof Louis’s brother Philippe,had become known as aworker of miracles. He hadranged himself against Louisand Eleonore, and came tothe court to ask the King toagreetoapeace.

Eleonorewouldnothearofthis.

She faced the Abbot andexplainedtohimthattoagreeto a peace would be todishonourherownsister,andalthough thiswas but one ofthecauseswhichhadmadeitnecessary for Louis to makewar, it was a very importantone.

‘Such a war,’ the Abbottold her, ‘is displeasing toGod.Hasthatnotbeenmadeclear?Godhasturnedhisface

from your endeavours. TheKing suffers deep remorse.He has done so since theburningofVitry.’

‘And before that,’ saidEleonore bitterly. ‘He hasrendered me childless. You,who are said to have thepower to make miracles,could perhaps work this oneformeifyouwould.’

TheAbbotwasthoughtful.

‘Whether you should havethe blessing of a child is inthehandsofGod.’

‘Soisallthathappens.Yetyou have worked miracles,they say. Why do you notworkonenow?’

‘I could do nothing in thismatter.’

‘You mean you will nothelpme?’

‘If you had a child you

would doubtless change yourlife. Perhaps you need achild.’

‘I need a child,’ saidEleonore. ‘Not only becausemy son will be the heir toFrance,butbecauseIlongforachildofmyown.’

TheAbbotnodded.

She caught his arm. ‘Youwilldothisforme?’

‘Mylady, Icannot. It is in

thehandsofGod.’

‘IfIpersuadedtheKingtostop the war, to call a truce…’

‘Ifyoudidthatitmightbethat God would be moreready to listen to yourprayers.’

‘Iwoulddoanythingtogetachild.’

‘Then pray with me, butfirst humble yourself before

God.Youcannotdothatwiththesinofwaruponyou.’

‘If there was peace youwouldworkthemiracle?’

‘If there were peace Ishouldbeable to askGod tograntyourrequest.’

‘Iwill speak to theKing,’shesaid.

Shedid and the resultwasthat therewaspeacebetweenTheobaldandLouis.

To Eleonore’s great joy shewas pregnant. She was surethat Bernard had worked themiracle. All these years andno sign of a child, and nowtheunionwouldbefruitful.

She had softened a little.She was planning for thechild as a humble mothermight have done. The songsshe sang were of a differentnature.

The members of the courtmarvelled.

Induecoursethechildwasborn.Agirl.

She was not disappointed.Like all rulers Louis hadhoped for a son; yet, shedemanded of her ladies,whyshould there be thisoverwhelming adoration ofthemale? ‘Iwasmy father’sheiress although I was awoman,’ she reminded them.

‘Why should the King and Ibe sad because we have adaughter?’

The Salic law prevailed inFrance. This meant that nowomancouldrule.Thecrownwould go to the next maleheir.ThislawwasallagainstEleonore’sprinciplesandshepromised herself that shewould not allow it to persist.Herdaughterwasbut ababyyet and there was time

enoughtothinkofherfuture.

She was christened Marieandformorethanayearafterher birth Eleonore wascontent to play the devotedmother.

Life had becomemonotonous.LittleMariewaspast two years old. Eleonorewas devoted to her butnaturally the child was ofteninthecompanyofhernurses.

Eleonore continued to holdcourt.Thesongshadbecomemore voluptuous again; theystressed the sorrows ofunrequited passion and thejoysofsharedlove.

Petronellewasherconstantcompanion; Eleonorewatched with smoulderingeyes her sister and herhusband together. What apassionate affair that hadbeen! Something, sighed

Eleonore, which was deniedme.

She had at first been fondof Louis. He had been soovercome at the sight of herand was so devoted to herthat she had developed quitean affection for him. It wasnotinherpassionatenaturetobecontentedwith that.Louismight be her slave and itpleasedherthatheshouldbe,but his piety bored her, and

what was hardest of all toendurewashisremorse.

He took a great interest inthe Church and wasconstantlytakingpartinsomeritual. He would return fromsuch occasions glowing withsatisfaction but it would notbelongbeforehewassunkinmelancholy.

He could not forget thesoundofcracklingflamesandthe screams of the aged and

innocent as they had burnedto death.The town itself hadnowbecomeknownasVitry-the-Burned.

He would pace up anddowntheirbedchamberwhileEleonore watched him fromtheirbed.

She knew that he wouldnotbeseeingher,seductivelyinviting with her long hairloose about her nakedshouldersasshemightbe.He

would be seeing the pitilessfaces of men intent onmurder; and when she spoketohimhewouldhear insteadthosecriesformercy.

How many times had shetoldhim:‘Itwasanactofwarandbestforgotten.’

And he declared: ‘To mydyingdayIshallneverforget.Remember,Eleonore, all thatwas done was done in myname.’

‘Youdidyourbest to stopit.Theyheededyounot.’Herlips curled.What aweaklinghe was! His men intent onmurder did not obey him!Andhepermittedthis.

He should have been amonk.

Shewaswearyofhim.Shewished they had married hertoaman.Yet he was the King of

France and marriage to himmade her a queen. But shewas also Eleonore ofAquitaine. She was nevergoingtoforgetthat.

So she listened to himwandering on in hismaudlinway and she knew that shewould not go on for everlivingasshewasatthistime.Her adventurous spirits wereinrevolt.

She had made a brilliant

marriage; she was a mother.But for her that was notenough.Shewasreachingforadventure.

The opportunity came fromanunexpectedquarter.

For many years men hadsoughttoexpiatetheirsinsbymaking pilgrimages toJerusalem.Theyhadbelievedthat by undertaking anarduous journey,whichoften

resulted in death, theyshowed their completeacceptance of the Christianfaith and their desire forrepentance. They believedthatinthiswaytheycouldbeforgivenalifeofwickedness.There had been manyexamples of men who hadundertaken this pilgrimage.Robert the Magnificent,father of William theConqueror,hadbeenone.Hehad died during the journey

leaving his son but a child,unprotected from hisenemies, but it was believedthat he had expiated alifetime’ssinsbythisgesture.

But while it wasconsidered a Christian act tomake a pilgrimage, howmuch greater grace could bewonby takingpart inaHolyWar todrive the infidel fromJerusalem.

Ever since the seventh

century Jerusalem had beenin the possession of theMussulmans,khalifsofEgyptor Persia. Therewas conflictbetween Christianity andIslamism, and at thebeginning of the eleventhcentury the persecution ofChristians in the Holy Landwas at its most intense. AllChristianslivinginJerusalemwere commanded to wear awooden cross about theirnecks.As theseweighed five

pounds they were aconsiderable encumbrance.Christians were not allowedto rideonhorses; theymightonly travel on mules andasses. For the smallestdisobediencetheywereputtodeath often in the cruellestmanner. Their leader hadsufferedcrucifixion;thereforethat seemed a suitablepunishment for those whofollowedhim.

Pilgrims who made thejourney to and fromJerusalem came back withstories of the terribledegradation that Christianswere being made to suffer.Indignation came to a headwhen a certain French monkreturned from a visit toJerusalem.HebecameknownasPetertheHermit.Ofsmallstature and almost fragileframe, his glowing spirit ofdeterminationwasapparentto

allwhobeheldhim.Itwashismission,hebelieved,tobringthe Holy City into Christianhands. He travelled all overEurope,barefooted,cladinanold woollen tunic and sergecloak; living on what hecouldfindbythewaysideandwhat was given him; and heroused the indignation of thewhole of Europe over theneed to free Jerusalem fromtheinfidel.

Ithappenedthatintheyear1095 Pope Urban II was atClermont in Auvergnepresiding over a gathering ofarchbishops, bishops, abbotsand other members of theclergy. People from all overEuropehadcometohearhimspeak; Urban had been veryimpressed by the missionwhich Peter the Hermit hadbeen carrying out and askedhim to come to him. On thesteps of the church, in the

presence of the Pope, Petertold the assembly of the fatemetedouttoChristiansintheHoly Land by the ruthlessinfidels who were eager toeliminateChristianity.

Peter, his dedicationburning fiercely for now hesaw the fulfilment of hisdream, talked of the insultsheaped on Christians, of thehideous deaths they weremade to suffer and that he

believed God had inspiredhim with a mission whichwas to bring back JerusalemtoChristianity.

Thecrowdwassilentforafew seconds after he hadfinished speaking and thenbrokeintoloudcriesof‘SaveJerusalem. Save the HolyLand.’

Then Pope Urban raisedhishandtoaskforsilence.

‘That royal city,’ he said,‘which the Redeemer of thehuman race honoured andmade illustrious by hiscoming and hallowed by hispassion, demandsdeliverance. It looks to you,men of France, men frombeyond the mountains,nations chosen and belovedby God, you the heirs ofCharlemagne, from you,above all, Jerusalem asks forhelp. God will give glory to

yourarms.TakethentheroadtoJerusalemfortheremissionof your sins, and departassured of the imperishableglorywhichawaitsyouintheKingdomofHeaven.’

Again that hushed silence;then from a thousand throatstherehad risen the cry: ‘Godwillsit.’

‘Aye,’ the Pope had cried,‘Godwills it. IfGodwasnotin your souls you would not

have answered as one manthus. Let this be your battlecry as you go forth againsttheInfidel.“Godwillsit.”’

Theairhadbeenfilledwithpeople’sshoutingaswithonevoice:‘Godwillsit.’

The Pope had held up hishandsforsilence.

‘Whosoever has a wish toenterinthispilgrimage,mustwear upon his crown or on

his chest the cross of theLord.’

Peter the Hermit watchedwith glowing eyes. Hismission was accomplished.Thecrusadeshadbegun.

Since that memorableoccasiontherehadbeenmanya battle between ChristiansandMussulmans; and it wasat this time,whenLouiswassotroubledbyhisconscienceand could not get the cries

fromVitry-the-Burnedoutofhismind, and theQueen hadrealised that her vitality wasbeing frustrated, that therewas a great revival of angeragainsttheMussulmansandadesire towin back JerusalemtoChristianity.

Bernard of Clairvaux wasdeeply concerned by whatwas happening in Jerusalem.He came to the King andtalkedwithhim.

‘Here is a sorry state ofaffairs,’hesaid.‘Godwillbeboth sorrowful and angry. Itis many years since the firstcrusadeandwearenonearertoourpurpose.Atrocitiesarebeing committed on ourpilgrims. It is time theChristian world revoltedagainstitsenemies.’

Louis was immediatelyinterested. He was burdenedwithsin;helongedtoexpiate

those sins and to have anopportunity to show hisrepentance.

Bernard nodded. ‘Vitry-the-Burned hangs heavy onyour conscience, my lord. Itshould never have happened.Thereshouldneverhavebeena campaign againstTheobaldofChampagne.’

‘Iknowitnow.’

‘In the first place,’ said

Bernard,whowasdeterminednot to let the King escapelightly, ‘you should not haveopposed Pierre de la Chatre.You should have recognisedtheauthorityofthePope.’

It was Eleonore who hadbeen theprimemover in thisaffair as in all othermatters.Bernard knew it but he didnotmentionit.TheKingwasin a penitent mood. Let himtaketheblame.

‘It was wrong to insist onthe Comte de Vermandois’sputting away his wife andmarrying the Queen’s sister.Itwaswrong to take thewarinto Champagne. For theseyou have been punished, foryou will never be able toforget the burning of thechurchofVitry.’

‘It’s true,’ groaned theKing.

‘You need to sue for

mercy.Youneedtomakeonegreat gesture. Why shouldyou not lead a campaign totheHolyCity?’

‘I!Whatofmykingdom?’

‘Therearethosewhocouldcare for it while you areaway.’

‘Leavemykingdom!Leadacrusade!’

‘Others have done thisbefore you. So they have

appeased God and wonforgiveness.’

The King stared beforehim. More war! He hatedwar. And yet his sins layheavyonhim.

Bernardraisedhisfanaticaleyes to heaven. ‘I, my lord,willnot turnmybackonmyduty.IwouldIwereayoungman and I would lead thecrusade.God has declined togivemethathonour.It ismy

duty to set before otherswhere their duties lie. Iwantthere to be three greatassemblies, one at Bourges,another at Vezelai andanotheratEstampes.Youwillbe there to give them yoursupport.Thinkon thismatterseriously. Only by pleasingGod in this way will heforgive you for whathappened at Vitry-the-Burned.’

He did not tell Eleonoreimmediately. He feared herderision.

HewenttohisgoodfriendandadvisertheAbbeSuger.

The Abbe was appalled.‘To leave France, leave yourkingdom. But your duty lieshere!’

‘Not as I see it. I havesinned.’

‘You think of Vitry. You

will not be blamed entirelyfor that. Your soldiers wereundisciplined. You tried tomakethemdesist.’

‘And failed in my duty. Iwas not strong enough topreventthem.’

‘Give your support to thecrusade.Helpthosewhowishtogotogo.Butyourdutylieshere in governing yourkingdom.’

‘Bernardwishesmetogo.’

‘Bernard is a fanatic. Mylord, a king cannot be that.God would not wish you tofailinyourduty.’

As usual Louis was tornbetween two courses. Heknew that his duty lay inFrance; yet the thought ofexpiating his sins in thisdramatic way appealed tohim.

It was not long beforeEleonore was aware of theconflictinhismind.

‘You are closeted for longperiods with Bernard,’ shesaid, ‘and with Suger. Whataretheyputtingbeforeyou?’

He hesitated. Then heblurted out: ‘Bernard wantsmetoleadacrusade.Sugerisagainstit.’

‘To lead a crusade. You!

AndwhatofFrance?’

‘That is what I tellBernard.Mydutylieshere.’

‘Lead a crusade!’murmuredEleonore.Andshewas thinking that she wouldbe Regent of France. Orwould she? They would setup Bernard or Suger orsomeone to govern with her.She would be expected tolead a cloistered life duringtheKing’sabsence.

Buttogoonacrusade!Toride to the Holy Land.Whatadventures she would have!Lifewouldhardlybedullandmonotonousthen.

Then she knew that thiswas the answer. This wasexactlywhatshehadwanted.

‘You must go,’ she saidfirmly.‘Youwillthrowawayyourburdenofguilt. It is theonly way if we are ever tohave any peace from Vitry.

And,Louis,Ishallcomewithyou.’

He looked at her inamazement; but she did notsee him; she saw herselfriding at the head of thewomen she would select toaccompanyher.

Shecouldnotwaittostart.

In the market square ofVezelaiBernardwas rallying

men to his banner. Besidehim were the King andQueen.

‘If you were told,’ hethundered, ‘that an enemyhad attacked your castles,your towns and your lands,had ravished your wives andyour daughters, profanedyour temples,would you notfly to arms? All these evilsand evils still greater havecome upon your brethren in

the familyofChrist.Whydoyou wait to avenge thesewrongs, Christian warriors?HewhogaveHislifeforyounowdemandsyours.’

Once again a cry rose upfromthethroatsofthousands:‘Godwillsit.’

And from none morefervently than that of theQueenofFrance.

The King then knelt and

Bernard put the cross in hishands. Louis kissed it. Thenthe Queen knelt and didlikewise.

Shewasexultant.Thegreatadventurewasabouttobegin.

ChapterIII

THELOVERSOFANTIOCH

Eleonore was afire withenthusiasm as she rode backtoParis.Thiswasgoingtobethe greatest adventure of herlife. She would ride at the

head of the ladieswhom shewouldselecttotakewithher.She would immediately setabout designing whatcostumes they should wear.Theywouldbemore thananinspiration to the men; theywould be crusaders in verytruth.

How exhilarating to besetting out on an enterprisewhichhadtheblessingoftheChurch, and to plan exciting

adventures in the knowledgethat incarrying themoutonewouldbegaining redemptionfor one’s past sins. Thiswasthesecondoccasionwhenshemust be grateful to Bernard.He had wrought the miracleofchildbirth forherandnowhehadpresentedherwiththiswonderful way of expiatingher sins and having anexciting adventure at thesametime.

She summoned her ladiesto her. They should bemountedongailycaparisonedhorses, she told them; shewas arranging that thereshould be countless packmules tocarry theirbaggage.Eleonore could not toleratethe ideaof travellingwithoutthe beautiful gowns and allthat which was necessary inorder for a lady to lead agraciouslife.

Theminstrelsnowsangofwar - holy war. Eleonorelistened with outwardattention but her thoughtswere far away in the HolyLand where she saw herselfriding at the head of hertroupeof ladies.Theyshouldbe dressed as Amazons forthey were going into battle.She started an equestrianschoolwhereher ladiesweretaught to practise marchinginto war. Trumpets were

sounded in their horses’ earsthat they might growaccustomed to the noise ofbattle; they were forced tojumpoverhighbarriers.

Eleonore spent excitedhours preparing the boxes ofdresses, perfumes, unguentsand all that was needed forladiesofelegance.

Petronelle joined her andgave way to loudlamentations when she heard

she was not included in theplan.Atfirstshehadbelievedshewouldbewithher sister;shehadpractisedherskillonhorseback; she had foundgreatpleasureinplanningtheclothesshewouldneed.

Then it was decided thatRaoul, Comte deVermandois, should act withAbbe Suger whom the Popehad chosen to be Regent ofFrance during the King’s

absence. Petronelle wasovercome with grief. Shewept and implored but wastoldshemusteitherleaveherhusbandorstayinFrance.

‘Ishouldnotadviseyoutoleave Raoul,’ said Eleonorewithasmile.‘Heisahusbandwho would find it very easyto be unfaithful as youdiscovered before youmarriedhim.’

So Petronelle decided she

muststaybehind.

‘Well,’saidEleonore,‘onecannot have everything. Youhave an attractive virilehusband,sister,andyoumustneedsbecontentwiththat.’

So Eleonore went on withherpreparationsandtalkedsoglowingly of the crusade toall whom shemet thatmanymore were gathered to thebanner.

With her usualsinglemindedness Eleonoredespisedallthosewhodidnotwish to join in. She told herladiesthatifanymandidnotwish to come with them hemust be a coward. ‘Some ofthem are of the opinion thatwomenareuselessexceptforthe domestic duties theyperformandforsubmittingtotheir pleasure and their needto see themselves reproducedin their children, but I have

neveracceptedthisview,’shecried.‘Ibelievethatmysexisineverysenseequaltothatofitsopposite.Andnowthatwearegoingintobattle,nowthatwe have shown France thatwomen can and will help tocarry on this holy war, whyshould not those men whostay at homeweave and spinandlookafter thechildrenoftheirhouseholds?’

How she laughed to scorn

those who made excuses nottojoininthecrusade.

‘Come,’shecried,‘wewillsend them our distaffs andask them if they will makegood use of them as they donotwishtodowhat theycallmen’swork.’

Eleonore was amusedwhen she learned howmanyofthemwhohadreceivedthedistaffs changed their mindsandjoinedtheexpedition.

Thedayofdeparturegrewnear. It had been arrangedthat all the French joining inthe crusade should meet atMetz where King Louiswouldbereadytoleadthem;and the Germans shouldgather at Ratisbonne wherethe Emperor Conrad wouldbe waiting to put himself attheirhead.

Both armies should thenmake their way to

ConstantinoplewhereManuelComnenus, who was thegrandson of AlexisComnenus, would assistthem.

Eleonore saidan revoir toher little three-year-olddaughter and set out at thehead of a party of Amazonswhile Louis led the men. Itwas a brilliant cavalcadewhich crossed Europe, thegolden lilies flying side by

side with the red cross ofChristianity.

As they made their wayacross Europe, men eager tojoin in the crusade fell inbehind the King so that hisarmy numbered one hundredthousand men. Eleonore wasinherelement.Theyrestedatthe castles of noblemen whodelightedtoreceivethemand,eagertohelpanyengagedon

such an enterprise,entertained the companylavishly. Eleonore and herladies sang and played; andthere were tournaments andentertainments to enliven thecompany.

Louis was uncertainwhether they should haveenjoyed so much luxury for,he pointed out, it was not apleasure jaunt; but Eleonorelaughed this to scorn and the

more magnificent thespectacle the more delightedshewas.

When they reachedConstantinople which wasruled by Manuel Comnenus,they found that the EmperorConrad had arrived beforethem.TheGreeks gave thema great welcome and therewasmuchrejoicing.

Manuel declared that hewould give them guides to

conductthemintoAsiaMinorand would do everything inhispowertoaidthemintheircampaign against the infidel.HewascharmedbyEleonoreand her party of ladies andshewas in no hurry to leavesuchapleasanthaven.

At the beginning ofOctober the Emperor Conradwas ready to leaveConstantinople, and Manuel,true to his promise, provided

guides who would conducthim through the hostileTurkish territory.TheFrencharmy had not at that timecompleted its preparations,and as Conrad had been thefirst to arrive atConstantinople he was thefirsttoleave.

ItwasanunpleasantshockwhennewsreachedLouisandhis advisers that Conrad hadbeen set upon by the Turks

and completely routed atIconium.Conradhimselfhadbeenwounded;hisarmywasin disorder and it was by nomeans certain what furtheractionhecouldtake.

There was greatconsternation among Louis’sadvisers, and the King wasprevailed upon to hold asecret conference in hisapartments. Several of thebishops who were

accompanying the partybegged the King not toinclude the Queen in thismeeting. She was on greatterms of friendship withManuel and it would bedifficult, they said, for themto voice their suspicions inherpresence.

Louis, who had begun tofeel that Eleonore wasdisplayingalevitywhichwasnot always seemly, agreed,

and in the quiet of hisapartments the Bishop ofLangres announced that hedidnottrusttheGreeks.

‘Itappearstome,’wentonthe Bishop, ‘that Conradcould have been led into anambush. Who were hisguides?TheanswerisGreekswho had been supplied byManuel.WhatifManuelisinleaguewiththeTurks?’

‘They are infidels!’ cried

Louis.

‘They are rich. Perhapsthey offered Manuel a bribetobetrayConrad.’

‘I cannot believe it. Theywould have to answer forsuchadeedinHeaven.’

‘There are some, my lord,whoallowtreasuresonEarthto blind them to those inHeaven.’

‘Yet Manuel has been so

gracioustous.’

‘Toogracious!’retortedtheBishop. ‘Too friendly.Fawning in fact at times. Idon’t trust him and now thatConrad’s army has beenroutedIfearforours.’

‘What must we do then?’asked the King. ‘We arepledged to take the road toJerusalem.’

‘But we should not trust

theGreeks.Howdoweknowthattheymaynotbelisteningto our plans andwarning theTurksofthem?’

‘I cannot believe that ofChristians.’

‘Mylord,youjudgeothersby yourself. Alas, they lackyourpietyandhonour.Ihaveevery reason to believe thatthe Greeks, under Manuel,aretraitorstoourcause.’

‘Thenwewill regard theiradvicewithsuspicion.’

‘That is not enough, mylord. They may have theirspies. They may sendwarning to the Turks. Weshould take Constantinople.Let the enemy know thatwewillnotsuffertraitors.’

‘I would never agree tothat!’criedtheKing.‘Wedidnot set out to punish theGreeks, but to expiate our

own sins. When we took upthe cross, God did not putinto our hands the sword ofhis justice. We have comeforth to fight the infidel torestore the Holy City toChristians. I shallnot engageinanyotherwar.’

The knights rallied to theKing. They were eager topress forward. They wantedtocontinuewiththemarchtothe Holy Land and had no

desire or intention to engageinawaragainsttheGreeks.

‘Then beware,’ said theBishopofLangres.

‘We shall take every care,fear not,’ said Louis. ‘Andnowwemustproceed.’

WhenLouisandhisarmyleftConstantinople and landed inAsia Minor, they caught upwith theremainsofConrad’s

army.Louiswasdisturbed tofind the German rulerwounded and despondent.The Turks were fiercefightershe toldLouis andhewascertainthattheyhadbeenwarnedofhisplans.

He was in no state tomarch with Louis and haddecided he would return toConstantinople and perhapsgobyseatoPalestine.

A mood of fierce

determination swept over theFrench army. Each manassuredhimselfthatwhathadhappened to the Germansshould not happen to theFrench. They would beprepared and ready for theTurk if he should attempt toambushthem.

And so it happened thatwhenatPhrygiaontheRiverMaeanderthearmiesmet,theFrench achieved a brilliant

victory over the Turks.Eleonore and her ladieswatchedthebattlefromsomedistance and when victorywas certain they cameforward, dressed the woundsofthosewhohadsufferedandcelebrated the success withsongs written for theoccasion.

‘Such an army,’ said theBishop of Langres, ‘could ifit had the mind, have taken

Constantinople.’

‘Itwouldnothavehad theheart,’ said Louis. ‘It hasbeen gathered together tofight a holywar and nothingelsewillsatisfyit.’

Now there was high hopeamongthesoldiers.Theyhadsucceeded where theGermans had failed. Full ofoptimism they planned thenextmarchforward.

The Queen and her partywere considerablyencumbered by the pack-horses which carried theirbaggage; and it was decidedthat the army should bedivided into two parts. TheQueen and her ladies shouldset up their camp on theheights over the Valley ofLaodicea. There they wouldbeabletoseetheapproachofany enemy forces. Theywould overlook the fertile

valley and miles ofsurrounding country. TheKingwould follow them andthere shouldbea rendezvousontheheights.

The ladies must of coursebe well protected and Louischose his best troops toaccompany them, while hewith the ladies’ baggage andthe remains of his armyfollowed behind to fight offanyof the enemywhomight

befollowing.

Eleonore rode at the headof her troops and beside herwas her constable,SaldebreuilofSanzay,amanin whose conversation shedelighted. He was elegant,handsome, cultured. Oftenshehadwished that theKingwas a little more like him.Butthenmoreandmoreoftenshe was beginning tocompare poor Louis with

other men, to hisdisadvantage.

They laughed and sang astheywentalong,andatlengththey came to the heightswhere the King and hiscommanders had decidedthey should rest. Eleonorelooked up at the plateau. Itappeared to be a grim spotand very different from thebeautiful valley of Laodicea.There the grass was fresh

green and clear waterfallsgushed from the hillsidewhile wild flowers grew inprofusion.

‘Whatanenchantingspot!’criedEleonore.

‘It is indeed,’ Saldebreuilagreed,‘andsadthatwemustnottarryhere.’

‘But we shall tarry here,’said Eleonore. ‘It is toobeautifulforustoignore.It’s

anenchantingspot. Iwant torest here. Imagine it inmoonlight.’

‘The King’s orders werethat we were to encamp onthe plateau,’ her constableremindedher.

‘LeavetheKingtome.Hewill understand that havingdiscovered such a spot wecannot be so blind to thebeauties of nature as to passthrough it. We shall sing

tonight of the glories ofnature. We shall thank Godforleadingustothisbeautifulspot.’

‘AndtheKing…’

‘The King will understandthat it was my wish,’ saidEleonore.

So they camped in thevalleyanddarknessfell.

The King coming along

behind with the loads ofbaggage was aware that theArabswereswarmingfor theattack.

‘ThankGod,’hesaid,‘thattheQueenhasgoneonaheadand will be safe on theplateau.’

By this time there wereArabsonallsidesofthem.

‘On!’ cried the King. ‘Wemustreachtheplateau.There

our soldiers will be waitingforus.Onceweareon itweshall be able to face theenemyinallourstrength.’

Fiercely battling its wayforward,harassedonallsidesby the attacking Arabs, theFrench army approached thevalley.To theirconsternationthey saw that the heightsabove were not occupied bytheir troops as they hadexpected.

‘WhatoftheQueen?’criedLouis.‘Whereisshe?’

It occurred to him thatsince she was not with histroops on the heights shemustbe in thevalleyand thehorror of the situationalarmedhim.Hehadtoplacehimself between the Arabsand the advance troopsamongwhomweretheQueenand her ladies. He picturedwhat could happen to

Eleonore and her women ifthey fell into those infidelhands. They could be soldinto slavery; they could besubmitted to a thousandindignities. At all costs hemust reachEleonore.But theArabs were upon him. Theyhad discovered the richbaggage and there wereshouts of triumph as theydragged the bales from thepack-horses. Eleonore’sbeautifulrobes,herjewels,all

that which had delighted herand made the journey so farsuch an exciting adventurewould be lost. Worse still,what would become of herandthewomen?Whatwouldbecomeofhismen?

All about him his soldierswere falling and there werevery few left between himand the enemy.Vitry and allitshorrorcameintohismind,and with it the terrible

knowledge of the danger theQueenwouldbeinifhewerekilled.

Itseemedasifbyamiraclethat he noticed a nearby treeand above it an enormousboulder. Acting on impulsehe seized the branch of thistreeandswunghimselfup tothe top of the rock. He wasthen out of reach of thosecruelscimitars.

Therewasanotherpoint in

his favour for it had grownsuddenlydark,and theArabswhohadbeenattackingthosewho surrounded him, fearingthat others would take thebest of the spoils from thepack-horses,shoutingtoeachother, hurried off to makesure of their share of theplunder.

Hecaughtat thebranchofthe tree on which he hadswung to the rock and

descended. Then he climbedthe tree. He believed he hadbeensavedbyamiracle.Thetree had been put there byGod for it had undoubtedlysavedhislife.

There he was temporarilysafe. The leaves completelyhid him. Peering throughthem he could in themoonlight make outsomething of the horriblecarnageandheknewthatthis

wasadefeatascertainasthatwhichhadbefallenConradofGermany.

And Eleonore? What ofher? Was she safe in thevalley? He thought she mustbe and she was in any caseprotectedbythebestofmen.

Hadshegonetotheheightsas he had commanded thiswould not have happened.She should never have comeon this crusade. Women did

occasionally follow the men,but they had to obey ordersstrictly and they came ratheras camp followers thancrusader commanders. ButEleonore would never beanything but a ruler. Shewouldalwaysimposeherwillon those about her. Hewonderedwhathislifewouldhave been like if he hadmarried a less forcefulwoman.

And even now with thishorrorallabouthimhecouldnotregrethismarriage.Therewasaboutheraqualitywhichno other woman would everhaveforhim.Hewouldneverforget the first time they hadmetwhenhehadthoughthermore beautiful than anycreature he had ever seen.And he who had thought hewouldneverwishtolivewitha woman had wantedEleonore with him day and

night.

He was bound to her.Whatever she did he wouldlove her; he would neverregret his marriage. And hecould think thus whileoverlooking this carnage forwhich to a great degree herheadstrong ways were toblame;hecouldstillfeellovefor her, still be anxious forher, still never regret thedayhe had seen her and known

shewastobehiswife.

The dawn showed that theenemyhadretired.Thepack-horses minus their burdenswandered aimlessly amongthebodiesoffallenmen.

The King descended thetree. What was left of hisarmyralliedroundhim.Theycould not bury the dead butthey could succour thewounded.

ThensadlytheymadetheirwayintothevalleywheretheQueen and her protectorsreceived them with greatsorrow.

Seven thousand finesoldiers had been slain andthe armywas withoutmeansof continuing the fight. Thebrief success at Phrygia wasasthoughithadneverbeen.

LouisandtheFrencharmywereinasunhappyastateas

ConradandhisGermanshadbeen.

BythecoolingstreamsoftheOrontes they made freshplans.

‘We dare not stay here,’said Louis. ‘The enemy willreturn. They know our weakstate. They will finish uscompletely.’

Eleonore was despondent.

All thosehandsomemen lostand with them the beautifulgownsandjewelswhichwereherdelight.Shehadnodesirefor this kind of adventure ifshe must appear dishevelledin a dirty gown. Theadventurehadbeenspoilt.

‘And can we travel in ourpresent state?’ asked theBishop of Langres. ‘What ofourwounded?’

‘We must somehow

managetotakethemwithus,’said theKing. ‘And to delayhere is dangerous. We mustmarch on and hope forsuccour. If we can get toPamphiliawemightmakeourwaytoAntioch.’

‘MyuncleRaymond is theGovernor of Antioch as youknow,’ said the Queen. ‘WemustreachAntiochandtherewe can nurse the woundedbacktohealthandre-formthe

army.’

‘There is a chance,’ saidLouis, ‘if we can get therebefore we are overtaken bythe Arabs who will certainlypursueus. If theydid, in ourpresent sorry stateweshouldstand little chance ofsurvival.’

‘We shall do it,’ saidEleonore.

‘And if we fail,’ said the

King, ‘we shall have died inChrist, for in battle with theinfidel we have done Hisworkandweshallknow thatitisHiswill.’

It was the Queen’sexample rather than theKing’s expression ofacceptanceofany fatewhichawaited him which spurredthe survivors of thatdisastrous campaign tocontinuetheirmarch.

On they went to beharassed continually bymarauding bands of Arabs.On one of these skirmishesSaldebreuil de Sanzay wascaptured. The Queen wasdesolate. The thought of herhandsome constable in thehands of the infidel wasunbearable.Whatwould theydotohim!Itwoulddoubtlessbe better for him if he hadbeen killed. She could notwishitotherwiseiftheinfidel

should submithim to torture.Shewasmore thana little inlovewithhimasshewaswithseveral of the gallant menwho surrounded her andwasconstantly comparing themwiththemonk-likeLouis.

But the situation was toodesperateforhertobroodtoolong on the fate of others.TheymustmaketheirwaytoAntioch without delay. Atlength famished, wretched,

denuded of most of theirbaggage they reachedPamphilia.

The Governor of that citygavethemshelter.

‘We will not encroach onyour goodness,’ said theKing. ‘We shall stay onlyuntilwecanfind transport toAntioch.’

The Governor told the

King that Antioch was fortydays’marchfromSatalia,theport close by, but by sea itwouldtakeonlythreedays.

‘Myarmy is inno fit statetomarch,’saidLouis.‘Ifyoucan provide us with boats totake us to Antioch we willrepayyouwellassoonasthiscanbearranged.’

The Governor said hewoulddowhathecould.

Impatiently Eleonoreawaited the arrival of thevessels. She had heard herfather talk of his brotherRaymond who had becomethePrinceofAntiochthroughhis marriage with thegranddaughter of Bohemund.‘Raymond,’ her father hadsaid, ‘was the handsomestman I ever saw. Womenalways found himirresistible.’SoitseemedhadConstance, Bohemund’s

granddaughter, and so shehad brought him Antioch.Eleonorewaseagertoseethisman. As her uncle he wouldsurely make them welcome.InAntioch she could acquiresome beautiful clothes. Shewasdeeplygrievedatthelossof thebaggage, for to appearromantic and beautiful wasnecessarytoherenjoymentoflife.

Each day she awaited the

arrival of the vessels whichwouldcarrythemtoAntioch,and when at last they camethere was bitterdisappointment. Seaworthythey undoubtedly were, butthere were so few of themthat they could not carry thearmyandallitsadherents.

Louis was nonplussed.This could only mean thatsome of themwould have todo the hazardous landmarch

whichwouldtakefortydays.

‘I cannot subject any tothat,’hecried tohisbishops.‘We must try to carryeveryoneintheships.’

‘Theywouldsink,’wasthetersereply.

‘YetIcannotleavethemtomarch across the land. TheArabswill attack them.Theywouldsufferhardship,hunger…No,Icannotdoit.’

‘Yet we cannot stay here,Sire.’

Hespentlonghoursonhisknees begging Heaven toshow him what he must do.Time was passing; he mustact quickly. Finally he madehisdecision.

He embarked on the shipswiththequeen,herladies,thebestofhisarmyandsomeofthebishops.

AndsoLouisandEleonoreleft for Antioch. The Kinghad lost more than three-quartersofhisarmy.

The journey which was tohave taken three days hadstretched out to three weeks.The weather had been goodhowever and it seemed asthough fortune was smilingonthematlast.

Ahead lay the green and

fertile land, and Raymond,Prince of Antioch, uncle toEleonore, having beenadvised of their coming hadprepared special honours forthem.

As soon as the shipsweresighted he personally set outto greet them, and he hadordered his subjects ofAntiochtogatherandlinetheroute the visitors would takethat they might be given a

welcome.

Thus it was that Eleonoreandherunclemet.

She looked up at him foralthough she was by nomeans small he toweredabove her.Rumour had beentruewhen it had said that hewasthehandsomestprinceinChristendom. There was thefaintest resemblance betweenthem;theywerebothgayandadventurous; they were both

ambitious; they were botheagertolivetheirlivestothefull and take the utmostadvantage from it. Theyrecognised each other as twoof a kind and there wasimmediate rapport betweenthem.

He took her hand andkissed it. ‘What pleasure thisgivesme,’hesaid.

‘I am very happy to behere,’repliedEleonore.

He had turned to Louis.The King of France! Thispoor creature! Noble-lookingin a saintly kind of way, ofcourse,butnohusbandforhisfiery Queen. It was going tobe an amusing and excitingsituation.

‘Welcome to Antioch,Sire,’saidRaymond,bowing.

‘Our gratitude to you,kinsman. We have had anarduousjourney.’

‘I heard with dismay ofwhat had happened to yourarmy. But let us not despair.Here you may rest amongfriendsandmakefreshplans.But come. Let me conductyou to the palace I haveprepared for you, and there Ihope you will be furnishedwithallyouneed.’

Therewerehorsesforthemto ride - for Eleonore abeautifulwhitepalfrey.

‘I somehowknew that thisshould be yours,’ saidRaymond warmly, and hewould allow no one buthimself to help her into thesaddle.

He rode between theKingand Queen into Antioch.‘Whatabeautifulcity!’criedEleonore enchanted by theolive groves, the palms, andthe people who shoutedgreetingsandwavedleavesas

theypassed.

From time to timeRaymondglancedather.Hisniece was not only spiritedbut beautiful. A worthyheiress of Aquitaine. Themostinterestingphaseofthisdevelopment would be hisgrowing acquaintance withhisniece, and thepossibility,perhaps through her, ofbringing to fruition planswhich had long been in his

mind.

‘If the palace I have hadmade ready is not to yourliking,’ he told Eleonore,‘you must tell me. Anothershallbemadereadyforyou.’

‘Howgoodyouare!’

He leaned towards her.‘Are we not bound bykinship? And were we not Iwould wish to do everythinginmypowerforyou.’

His eyes glowed in amannerwhichwassomethingmore than avuncular.Eleonore was delighted bysuch conversation, itwas theessence of that romance ofwhich she sang. If he wereattracted by her, so was sheby him. Never before hadLouis seemed soinsignificant.AssherodeintoAntioch she asked herselfhow different her life wouldhave been if the King of

France had had the bearing,the manners and the vitalityofthePrinceofAntioch.

Into the courtyard of thepalace they rode. Therebloomedbrilliantflowersandthespringsunshineglintedonthe waters of the fountainsandthefeatheryleavesofthecypress trees. From thebalconies of her apartmentsEleonore could look out onthe olive groves and

vineyards of the fertile land,andshewasenchantedbyit.

HowRaymond understoodher.Hehadheardof the lossofherbaggageandsenttoherbeautiful cloths that shemightchoosefromthem,andwith thesecameseamstressesthat they might immediatelyprovideherwiththegarmentsshe needed. He gave herpresentsofcostlyjewels.

Eleonore exulted for she

realised that Raymond waswooing her far moreinsistently than he was herhusband.

There were entertainmentsfor her pleasure. After abanquetRaymondwouldbegher to sing for him, and shesang some of her songs oflove while he watched herwithglowingeyes.

Raymond’s wifeConstance, throughwhomhe

had inherited Antioch, waslesspleasedwith thevisitors.She was well aware of thedisturbing presence of theQueen of France, and sherejoiced in theQueen’scloserelationshiptoRaymondforaman could hardly make hisniece his mistress. Raymondwas the most handsome andcharmingmanConstancehadever known and she wasproud tobehiswife,but shedid realise that her opinions

weresharedbymanyandthisof course meant thattemptation was constantlyoffered to her attractivehusband.

She preferred not to knowofhisinfidelities.Shewashiswife.He could not put awaythe granddaughter of greatBohemund. She was safeenough. But she would bepleased when the Frenchparty left togetonwith their

crusade.

Eleonore had no wish toleave. Crusading had turnedouttobenotquitethejoyousadventure she had dreamedof.Therewasmoretoit thanriding at the head of herladies, beguiling thecrusaderswith her songs andenchanting them with herpresence. The recent debaclehad taught her that. It hadbeenuttermiseryintheboats

whichhadbroughtthemhere,andwhen she thought of herbaggagebeingrifledbythoseinfidels, she grew so angrythat in her rage, her ladiesfeared she might do herselfsomeinjury.

All that was behind her.HereshewasinAntiochwiththe most adorable of hostsand between them a veryexciting relationship wasspringingup.

‘You must completelyrecover from your ordealsbefore you think ofdeparting,’insistedRaymond.

‘You are good,’ repliedLouis,‘butI thinkweshouldnotdelaytoolong.’

‘You should be guided bymy uncle,’ Eleonore warnedhim. ‘Remember how manymenyouhavelost.’

Louis might have said,

Yes, through your folly. Ifyou had obeyed my ordersand gone to the plateau wecould have been defended aswemadeourwaytoyou.Buthesaidnosuchthing.Hewasglad that her good spiritswererestoredand thatshesoobviously revelled in thecomforts Antioch had tooffer.

He did remind her gentlythattheyhadafterallcometo

fight the infidel and restoretheHolyCitytoChristianity.

‘Nevertheless,’ saidEleonore sharply, ‘it wouldbe folly to go on with theenterprise until we areequipped to do so. Our menhave suffered greatly. Theyneed time to regain theirhealth.’

‘And where better thanhere,’ said Raymond, ‘wherethey can rest secure among

friends?’

Eleonore and Raymondexchanged smiles, and Louisagreed that theymust indeedrestforawhile.HeturnedtoRaymond. ‘Although I thankyou for your hospitality andamindeedgratefulforit,youwill understand me, I know,when I tell you that I amimpatient to conclude mymission.’

‘I understand, of course,’

repliedRaymond,‘butIthinkthe Queen is right when shesays you should tarry awhile.’

‘God will bless you foryour goodness to us,’answeredLouis.

Therewasawalledgardeninthe palace. In it was abeautiful fountain in thecentre of whichwas a statuedepicting lovers embracing.

Eleonore often went to thisgarden.Raymondknewitandit had become a meetingplace.

Theywalked in it togetherarm inarm.She liked to feelthepressureofhis fingersonherarm.

‘Iliveinfear,’hetoldher,‘thatyouwillleaveussoon.’

‘I will do my utmost tostay.’

‘TheKinggrowsrestive.’

‘The King!’ There was anoteofimpatientcontemptinhervoicewhichhewasquicktonotice.Itmerelyconfirmedthe assessment he had madeoftheirrelationship.

‘You shouldhavebeen thecommander,’heventured.

‘Awoman?’sheasked.

‘Agoddessrather.’

‘You saydelightful things,PrinceRaymond. Iwonder ifyoumeanthem.’

He turned to faceher. ‘Doyoureallydoubtthat?’

‘Iamnotsure.’

‘I would I could convinceyou.’

‘Perhapsonedayyouwill.’

‘I would that you couldstayhere…forever.’

‘For ever? That is a longtime.’

‘When two people are insuch accord as I believe youand I are it does not seemlong.’

‘Yes,weareinaccord,arewe not? I sensed it from themomentwemet.’

‘You and I,’ he said. Andhe bent forward and laid hislips on her forehead. She

trembled with a pleasure shehadneverbeforeexperienced.

‘That was a very pleasantuncle’s kiss,’ she said asthough reminding him oftheirrelationship.

‘Is it because of thenearness of our kinship thatwe understand each other sowell?’

‘That may be so and wemustnotforgetthatkinship.’

‘Whyshouldwerememberit?’heasked.

She was faintlyembarrassed and said:‘Perhaps I havemisunderstood.’

‘Nay,’ he criedpassionately. ‘You havemisunderstood nothing. Youknowthestateofmyfeelingsfor you. I lie awake at nightwondering about yours forme.’

She said: ‘You are thePrince ofAntiochmarried toBohemund’sgranddaughter.Iam the heiress of Aquitainemarried to the King ofFrance.’

‘Whatofthat?’

‘Andyouaremyuncle.’

‘I never setmuch store bylaws,didyou?’

‘No,’sheadmitted.

‘Shallwebefrank?’

‘Letusbe.’

‘There is nothing in myheart that I could not say toyou.’

‘Noristhereinmine.’

‘I love you,’ said thePrince of Antioch. ‘You arethe most exciting woman Iever met. I would that I hadbeentheKingofFrance.YouandIwouldhavebeenasone.

Whathaveyoutosaytothat,my Queen? Will you beequallyfrankwithme?’

‘Youare themostexcitingman I evermet. Iwould thatyou had been the King ofFrance.’

‘Eleonore,thenwhyshouldwe deny ourselves what soclearlybelongstous?’

‘Because…’

‘Because of this close

relationship.’

‘Raymond,youareintruthmyuncle.’

‘Eleonore, you are in truthmylove.’

He embraced her and herresistance fled. She laughedat him.Was she awoman tobe bound by laws? She hadsung of love, had written oflove.Should shebe afraidofit when she confronted it in

its living form?Thiswas thegreatestadventureofherlife.Raymond was the hero ofromantic songs; Raymondwasthelovershehadalwayswanted. She despised theKingofFrance.ShelovedthePrinceofAntioch.

Neitherwas of a nature tohesitate. All barriers wereswept away. That dayEleonore and the Prince ofAntioch became lovers in

truth.

He rodewith her often; nowandthentheyendeavouredtoevade the party that theymight repair to some secretplace which he knew. Theymade of it a rendezvous. Abower - a small summerhouse in the grounds of oneof his palaces. His servantsknew better than to interrupthim when he was there.

Perhaps he had used itmanytimes before with otherwomen. Eleonore did notcare. She believed that therewas something in theirrelationshipwhichsetitapartfrom anything else either ofthemhadexperienced.

She was twenty-six yearsofageandhewasforty-nine;yet to her he seemed theperfect lover. His experiencedelighted her; his charm

overwhelmed her; constantlyshecomparedhimwithLouisanddeploredafatewhichhadgivenhertohim.

She was passionately inlove, recklessly so. Perhapsoneortwopeoplewereawareof their relationship, but shedidnotcare.

What if his wifediscovered? Eleonoreshrugged her shoulders. Sheknew that this was not the

first time Raymond hadbroken his marriage vows.How could he have knownthat Eleonore was the onewoman in the world for himif he had not had experiencewith many others? And ifLouis discovered what washappening? She snapped herfingers.Let himdiscover; lethimlearnthattherewererealmenintheworld.

So they met and Eleonore

assured herself thateverything she had sufferedon the road to Antioch hadbeenworthwhile.

He toldherhe adoredher;hecouldnotimaginewhathislife had been without her.Dull, uninspired, scarcelyworththeeffortofliving.

As they lay in the arbourguarded by Raymond’sservants, the Prince talked toher of his plans to keep her

besidehim.

‘Louis must be persuadedtostayhere,’hesaid.

‘Hewill never do that.Heis quite stubborn. He has afixed idea thathemustgo totheHolyLand to redeemhissins. He still dreams aboutVitry-the-Burned. He willnevergiveuptheidea.’

‘Let me tell you of myplans. You will understand

readily, I know. I wouldrather talk to you before Iattempt to put my ideasbefore theKing.Perhapsyouwillbeable tomakehimseereason.Weareharassedherecontinually. We aresurrounded by the infidel.TheFrenchsettlementhereisso small that although itconsistsofbravemenitisnotenoughtoholdtheland.Ifweare not stronger, in time wewill be overrun by the

Saracens. Aleppo is but ashort distance from Antiochand here the enemy has hisheadquarters. Only bystrengthening our holdingshere and taking thesemenacingcitiescanweassuretheChristianinfluenceonthisterritory, and if we were tolose theoneway to theHolyLand it would be closed toChristians.’

‘And you suggest that

Louisstayshere,thatyouandhemarch on the Saracens inAleppo?’

‘Thatwouldbewise.Louisshould have takenConstantinople. He couldhave done it and I believesomeofyourbishopsadvisedit.’

‘But thatwas in the handsofManuel.’

‘The treacherous Greek!

Heisnofriendtous.’

‘You think that he gavefalseinformationtoConrad?’

‘I am sure of it. Thus theGermans were almostdestroyed.’

‘Then your enemy is asmuch Manuel the GreekEmperorastheSaracens.’

‘I would like to see himdestroyed.Youknowthattherulers of Antioch are his

vassals. Imustaccepthimasmysuzerainorhecouldbringforces superior to anything Icould raise and take Antiochout ofmy hands. Iwant thatman destroyed. I want tomake this strip ofMediterranean coast safe forChristians, and free passageto theHolyLandassured forChristianpilgrims.’

‘And you think Louiscould help you succeed in

this?’

‘Hehasanarmy.’

‘Verymuchdepleted.’

‘Butfinesoldiers.ThefactthatthereisaFrencharmyonthis soil has put heart intoChristians throughout theterritory and fear into theinfidels.Louiswasambushedbuthehadbefore thatwonagreat victory. If he had triedto take Constantinople he

couldhavedoneso.’

‘AndwhatcanIdo?’

‘Louis sets great store byyou. Everyone talks of hisdevotion. If you couldpersuadehimtojoinwithme,topostponehisjourneytotheHoly City, to do the workwhichisathand,hewouldbedoing greater service to Godthaninanyotherway.’

‘Andtous,’saidEleonore,

‘forwe should be together. Iwould ride with the army. Iwouldbeincampwithyou.’

Raymond was not sure ofthatbutheremainedsilent.

‘Speak to Louis,’ he said.‘Sound him. But do not lethim know that I haveconfidedinyou.’

She would do it, shepromised. She was ready todo anything Raymond

suggested; and since theprojectmeantthattheywouldnot have to part, she couldthrow herself wholeheartedlyintotheproject.

She could scarcely endure tohaveLouisnearher.Shewasconstantly comparing himwith Raymond. There couldnothavebeen twomenmoreunlike. Why did Louis theFat, King of France, have

such a son? Any of hisbrothers would have beenmoreworthytobeKing.Oneofhisbrothers,Robert,Countof Dreux, had greatambitions, she had heard.Henry, the next in age toLouis,wastheArchbishopofRheimssohewouldnodoubtbecontentwithhislot.TherewasanotherPhilip to replacethe one who had been killedbythepig,andPeter.Anyofthose would have made a

betterkingthanLouis.Akingwhose heart was in theChurchwasnoman to ruleacountry. Louis had nothingbut his piety to recommendhimandwhataborethatwas!

She had held herself alooffrom him and was glad thatwhen he was occupied inState affairs he had littledesire for physical contact.What aman to havemarriedsuch a woman as she was!

Although she had alwaysknown how unsuited theywere, she had realised thismore fully since her liaisonwith Raymond. There was amanwhowas indeed aman.Ruler, lover, everything thatshecoulddesire.

Shewasgoing toworkforhimwithallherpower.

Louis came to theirapartment in the beautifulpalace which Raymond had

putattheirdisposal,hisbrowfurrowed,clearlythoughtful.

What was disturbing him,shewondered?Someritualinone of the churchprocessions? He could beenthusiastic enough aboutthem. He was becomingobsessedbyreligion.

‘Louis,’ she said, ‘howbeautiful it is here! Howpeaceful!Yetat anymomentthis lovely country could be

overrunbyinfidels.’

Hewassilentandshewenton: ‘It is a pity that such aspot cannotbemade safe forChristians.’

‘There is no safety on theroad to Jerusalem. That iswhyacrusadesuchasoursisfraughtwithdanger.’

‘Thenweshouldmakethatroadsafe,Louis.’

‘No,’ said Louis, ‘we

shouldgoontoJerusalem.’

‘Butwhatifthiscoastwereto fall into the hands of theinfidel?’

‘The glory would be greatforthosewhotriedtowrestitfromhishands.’

‘Shouldnot aChristiandotheworkthatisathand?’

‘Heshould indeedandourduty is to march on toJerusalem.’Louis’seyeswere

fanatical.‘IseeusdrivingtheSaracen from the Holy Cityand making it a strongholdfor Christianity forevermore.’

‘That would come later,’said Eleonore. ‘First shouldyou not make it possible forarmies and pilgrims to comethisway?’

‘Wewere brought here bythegraceofGod.’

‘And given refuge by thegrace of the Prince ofAntioch.’

‘Whatever has happened,whatever will happen in thefuture, our duty lies clearbeforeus.WemustmarchontoJerusalem.’

Having gleaned throughEleonore that Louis wasdisinclined to accept hisschemes, Raymond had no

alternativebuttocalltogetheran assembly to which heinvited Louis and his chiefadvisers.

Helaidhisschemesbeforethem and spoke passionatelyof the need to establish afirmerstrongholdontheroadto theHolyCity.He pointedout the proximity ofAleppo,ofthenumerousinfidelswholurkedon the route.Thewaymust be made safe and the

HolyCitymustberestoredtoChristianity, and until thatcould be done war must bemade on the Saracen.Christians must bandtogether.

The very thought ofaggressive war roused apassionaterevulsioninLouis.Never as long as he livedwould he forget the screamsof thosedying in theburningchurchofVitry.

Hewouldnot,hedeclared,makewaruntilwarwasmadeonhim.

In vain did Raymond puthiscase.Hecouldseethathewas swaying the priests andthe nobles; but Louisremained adamant and theKing’s consent was essentialtotheplan.

In the summer houseRaymond discussed theposition with Eleonore.

‘Louis isnosoldier,’hesaid.‘Itisdisastrousthatheshouldcommand an army. He doesnot understand that it is farmore important to make thisland Christian, to strengthenourholdonit,thantomakeafutile pilgrimage to the HolyCity.’

‘Heisconcernedonlywithobtaining forgiveness of hissins.’

‘What sins could such a

manhavecommitted?’

Eleonore laughed. ‘He is amonk in his outlook. Heshouldneverhavebeentakenfrom the Church. And tothink that they gave me tosuchaman.’

‘I wonder he wished tomarry.’

‘I think he did not, butwhen he saw me he wasreconciled.’

‘Icanunderstandhowyoucharmed even him. Butreconciled!Whatshame!Andyou…theQueenofloveandsong.’

‘As I say he should havebeen amonk. Reluctantly hewent to war and there wasthis unfortunate incident atVitry. As if such things donot occur in every war. Iwould I were free of him.Since you and I became

lovers I have realised moreand more how distasteful heistome.’

Raymond embraced her,buthismindwasbusy.

Louis had married herbecauseevenhehadseenthatunion with Aquitaine wasdesirable for France.Eleonoremust have been therichestheiressinEurope.Andalthough Louis had beengiven the title of Duke of

Aquitaine, Eleonorewas stilltherulerofthatrichland.

Suppose she were free ofLouis?SupposesheremainedinAntioch?Whatifhecouldarrange another marriage forher?Whomcouldshemarry?It was impossible. But whynot a divorce from Louis?Someexcusecouldbefound.A close blood tie! That wastheusualgroundsandsoeasytofindbecausethefamiliesof

most people in their positionhadbeenconnectedwitheachother at some time if onewentbackfarenough.

His mind was busy as hemadelovewithEleonore.

Itwasessential forRaymondto fight this war. He mustsubdue the infidel; he mustescape from the intolerablepositionofremainingavassalof the Greek Emperor. Here

washisgreathopeandLouis… ineffectual, monk-likeLouis stood inhisway.HowdelightedhewasthatLouis’swife was unfaithful to himandwithhimself - heruncle.How easy it was tounderstandthesimplefellow.A man who hated war andthought little of the profit itcouldbringhiscrown!Amanwho could reproach himselfbecause his soldiers hadkilled a few women and

children! A man who foundlittle pleasure in the act oflove and who had only beeninduced to indulge in itbecause he hoped to getchildrenandbecausehehadavoluptuous temptress of awife!

Raymond laughed and setaboutplanninghowhecouldget the better of this kingwhose refusal to fall in withhis plans made it impossible

forhimtocarrythemout.

They talked earnestlytogether…he andEleonore.They must find a means ofkeepingherinAntioch.

He understood her farbetter than she understoodhim. He knew that herpassion for him was assuperficialashisforher.Shedid not know this. Eleonore,the romantic Queen of theTroubadours,wasenamoured

ofloveitselfandshesawitassupreme. He did not tell herthat since he had been themeans of freeing her fromirksome convention, shewould break away from anaccepted mode of behaviour,and nothing would restrainher. But he knew this to beso.

Itwouldnotbelongbeforeshetookanotherlover.

Theypartedtenderly.They

would not emerge from thearbour together. She shouldgofirst.

As she did so she saw afigure detach itself from thebushes. She pretended not tonotice but walked on. Theman who had emerged fromtheshadowfollowedher.

Before she reached thepalace she turned and cameface to face with him. Shelaughedderisively.

‘You!’ It was a man shehad always despised,ThierryGaleran, a eunuch ofimmense stature. He wascleverandhadmadehisnameat thecourtofLouis theFat,whohadsingledhimoutandmade use of his statecraft. Itwas this King who hadrecommended ThierryGaleran tohis son andLouishadasdeeparespectforhimashisfatherhadhad.

‘For one moment,’ saidEleonore, ‘I had thought youmight have planned to seizeme for a certain purpose.What a joke! That wouldhave been quite outside yourrange.’

Galeranbowed.Hesaid:‘Isaw you in the gardens andrecognised you, my lady. Ithought to offer my serviceshouldyouneedprotection.’

‘Ineednothing fromyou,’

sheansweredshortly.

Shehurriedintothepalaceandbrieflywonderedwhetherhe had seen her enter thearbour. If sowould he guesswhat she had been doingthere?

She laughed to herself.‘Something,mypooreunuch,which you could notunderstand,’shemurmured.

Galeran retraced his steps

tothearbour;itwasthusthathecamefacetofacewiththePrince of Antioch and heknew at once that the Princehad been the companion oftheQueenofFrance.

Smarting under theQueen’s insult, he debatedwith himself whether heshould inform the King ofFrance of what he had seen.Perhaps it was a littlepremature. No, he would do

nothing as yet, but hewouldkeep a close watch on theQueen.

Since she had broken hermarriage vows withRaymond, Eleonore thoughtoften of some of thehandsome men who hadmade advances to her andwhomshehadrejected.Therewas Raoul, Count ofVermandois who had turned

in desperation to Petronelle,and was now with the AbbeSuger helping to governFrance. She had had a greatfancy for him; there wasSaldebreuil who was in thehands of the infidel. Shethoughtofhimagooddeal.

She mentioned toRaymond the fact that manyofthebestsoldiersinLouis’sarmyhadfallencaptivetotheenemy and how she often

wondered what had befallenthem.

Obsessed by his greatscheme Raymond constantlysoughtmethodsofbringingitto fruition. And an idea hadoccurred to him which onimmediate considerationseemed hopeless but oncloserconsiderationlessso.

‘There is aSaracennamedSaladin who is a prince ofsomepower,’hetoldher.‘He

isamanofgoodlooksandacertain culture. I think hemight even become aChristianoneday.’

‘A Saracen become aChristian!Itisunheardof.’

‘Notso,mylove.Saracenshave become Christians andChristians Saracens forcertain considerations. It isnot unheard of. But thisSaladinisaninterestingman.Doyouknow,Ibelieveifyou

sent amessage to him to theeffect that you wished tomake a request he would atleastlisten.’

‘This is what I wish morethan anything. I could thenmake an offer of a ransomand see if I can bring aboutthe return of my goodSaldebreuil. Will you helpme?’

‘With all my heart. Leavethemattertome.’

The result was that in avery short time there was amessage from Saladin. Hehad heard a great deal aboutthe beauty and charm of theQueen of Troubadours. Shewished to make a request tohim.Hewouldgrantthisandaskonlyonefavour in returnwhichshemightfeelitinherhearttogranthim.Wouldshereceive him that he mighthave the great pleasure ofhearing her request from her

own lips and of seeing forhimself the ladywhowas sorenowned for her grace andbeauty.

Such a reply delightedEleonore. The incident wasworthy of one of her ownballads.

Ifhecouldcometohershewouldbedelightedtoreceivehim,washerreply.

She told Raymond of the

matter.

‘Hewill have tomake hisway through a hostile army.How can he do this?’ askedRaymond.

‘He says it iswhathewilldo.’

‘Hewill risk his life for aglimpse of you and thepleasure of saying a fewwordstoyou!’

Yes indeed. This was the

kindofromanceofwhichhertroubadours sang. She wasdelighted to find that itexistedinreallife.

‘Hewillneverreachhere,’saidRaymondsadly.

‘Hewill.Iknowhewill.’

‘Iwill do all I can to helphim.Iwillsendoutanescort,and he shall be disguised insuch a fashion that no onewillrecognisehim.’

Eleonore was delighted.‘My dearest Raymond, howgoodyouaretome!’

‘WhyshouldInotbetotheoneIlove?’

Life was exciting, thoughtEleonore. This was how itshould be lived. Alas, fromone day to the next she didnotknowhowlongshewouldstay here. Louis was restive.Never had she seen him sodeterminedashewasnowto

goonwithhisplan.Hewouldnot listen to reason. Everyday she grew more incensedwith him and passionatelywished she could end theirmarriage.

ButshewouldnotthinkofLouis. She would think ofthisromanticinfidelwhowasgoing to riskhis life tocomeandseeher.

Howhisdarkeyesflashedas

he contemplated her! Howtallhewas!Whatawarrior!

He spoke a little French,not much, but enough toconvey his admiration of herandtheeffectshehadonhim.

Shewasno less impressedby him. He was differentfrom any man she had everknown and the alien qualitywasirresistible.

Shewishedtoaskafavour

ofhim,hebelieved.She toldhimthatamanforwhomshehad some regard was aprisoner in his hands. Hisname was Saldebreuil deSanzay. She was ready toofferasubstantialransomforhis return. Saladin declaredthat he would accept noransom. It was enough thatshe had made a request. Hisgreatestpleasurewouldbe tograntwhatshewished.

A messenger should bedisguised and sent to thecastle where the Frenchmanwas incarcerated. He shouldbe immediately released andgivensafeconduct.

‘Whatacharminggesture,’cried theQueen. ‘How can Ithankyouenough.’

She set out to please him.She sang songs of her owncomposition, songs of love.Helistenedentranced.

Raymond joined them andseemed delighted that theyfound such pleasure in eachother’s company. How verycultivated her uncle was,thought Eleonore. Howdifferent from poor gaucheLouis! She and Raymondwere lovers, but he saw atonce that there couldnot failto be a strong physicalattractionbetweenherselfandthefascinatinginfidel.

The very fact that hewasan infidel added to hisattraction.Shecouldnothelpfeeling completely excited inhispresence.

Raymondsaidthathemustnot attempt to leave thepalace for a while. He hadtravelledfarandriskedmuch.HeandEleonoreshouldhavemore delightful interviewsbefore he returned to hisarmies. Raymond would

make sure that he was wellguarded and that his identitywas kept secret. They couldrelyonRaymond.

When he was alone withEleonore - Prince Saladinhaving returned to the secretapartments Raymond hadfound for him - Raymondsaid to Eleonore: ‘I have aplan.Youmaythinkthatitisimpossible. If so, do nothesitatetosayso.YouknowI

think of nothing but yourgood.’

‘Iknowit,’saidEleonore.

‘YouarewearyofLouis.’

‘Utterlyso.’

‘You would be glad to befreeofhim.’

‘Nothing could please memore.’

‘Why should you not befreeofhim?Theremustbea

blood connection betweenyou two. It would not bedifficulttotraceit.Adivorce-andyouwouldbefreefromLouis.’

‘Andthen?’

‘Why you could marrysomeoneelse.’

’You are married, mydearestRaymond.’

‘Oh, I had not hoped forthat ultimate bliss. What if

you found anotherbridegroom?’

‘Areyousuggestingone?’

‘YouaregreatlytakenwithourhandsomeSaladin.’

‘Raymond! You know amarriage between us wouldbeimpossible.’

‘Iseenoreasonwhy.’

‘Saladin…aSaracen!’

‘A remarkably handsome

one. A man of power andgreat wealth. There is noreason why he should notbecomeaChristian.’

Eleonore stared at heruncle. She was thinking ofthe attractive Saladin and awild excitement possessedher.Hewouldbesodifferent,so alien and thereforefascinating.

‘If it were possible …’began Raymond. ‘Imagine if

itwerepossible…’

‘Yes,Raymond.’

‘You would stay here …for a while. You would berulerwithhimofgreatlands.’

‘Aninfidel!’

‘HewouldhavetobecomeaChristian.’

‘Wouldhe?’

‘For you … I know hewould. What great glory

would come to you. Withyour incomparable charmsyou would achieve whatarmies cannot do. You canbring Christianity to theseinfidels. For if Saladinbecame aChristian sowouldhispeople.’

‘AndAquitaine?’

‘MydearestEleonore, youand he could travel to yourdominionsnowandthen.Youcould spend your lives

travellingfromplacetoplacewhich is always a moreentertainingway than to stayinoneplace.’

‘It does not seemimpossible.’

‘You do not find himrepulsive?’

‘Notentirelyso.’

Raymond hid a smile. Hisvoluptuous niece desired theman, and their own

relationship had lost the firstflush of novelty. He wasvisualising the outcome ofthis daring scheme. If shemarried Saladin who wouldlook after her estates inAquitaine? Who better thanherunclewhoafterallmighthaveinheritedthemifhehadbeen the elder brother.Eleonore could enjoy herSaracen and he would go toAquitaine, for his position inAntioch was very insecure.

AndintimeAquitainewouldbehis.Itwouldsuithimverywell,forifhewerenotgoingto get French help to subduetheGreekEmperorhewouldneedtomakeotherplans.

‘Think about it,’ he said,‘andyouwill see it is not asimpossible as you at firstbelieved.’

She did think about it. Hermindwasfullofimages.The

Saracenwassuchahandsomeman - so tall, dark-skinnedwith enormous expressiveeyes.

Saldebreuil de Sanzayarrived back. She wasdelighted to see him notbecausehewasamanwhomshe found charming somuchas because his return was asymbolofSaladin’sdesire topleaseher.

Comparing the Saracen

with Louis she despised herhusband more than ever. Somuch meditation, so manyprayers irritated her and shehadnodoubtwhatsoeverthatshe wished to escape fromhim.

Shelovedherunclebuthewasafterallheruncleandhewas getting old. Saladin wasyoung.

The prospect of having anewhusbandexcitedher.She

would not wish to make thesame mistake again. Shewouldnotwantahalfmanasshe was beginning to thinkLouis was. What had Louisbut his dominions? StripLouisofhis crownand therewas not a man at his courtwhom she would not havepreferred.

ButSaladin!ASaracen!

Why not? There had beenmarriages betweenChristians

andSaracensbeforethis.

Shewouldtestherself.ShewouldseehowshefeltaboutmarriagewithaSaracen.Shemustbesurethatthereshouldbe a perfect union betweenthem.

Her manner had changedtowards him. She waswarmer,moreinviting.

Saladinwasnotthemantobe blind to her veiled

suggestions.

At their nextmeeting theybecamelovers.

A most exhilaratingexperienceforEleonore.

They lay togetherafterwards and talked of thepossibilities of a marriage.First of course she must ridherself of that tiresomeencumbrance, the King ofFrance.

Saladinwasdubiousofthispossibility,buthedidnotsayso.Hewaseagertopleasehisnewandexcitingmistressandwas ready to indulge in anyfantasyshesuggested.

Louis was becoming restive.HehadtarriedlongenoughinAntioch;hehadprofitedfromtherespite;hehadrefittedhisarmy and he was now readytomarchontotheHolyCity.

This was somethingEleonore would not tolerate.Shewashowdeeplyabsorbedin her love affair withSaladin.Shebelievedthatshecouldhappilymarryhimandremain in this area not farfromherbeloveduncle.

Louis paced up and downin their bedchamber.Eleonorelayinbedwatchinghim, noting his lack ofphysical charm, comparing

him with Saladin andRaymond.

‘Withinaweek I intend tomove on,’ Louiswas saying.‘I have delayed here longenough.’

‘Youwere glad enough togethere.’

‘Indeed Iwas after all ourtroubles, but we have tarriedlong enough and must moveonnow.’

‘You are wrong. Youshouldstayhere.’

‘Forwhatpurpose?’

‘My uncle has explainedthe need to fight the infidelhere.’

Louis looked weary. ‘It issomething I have decidedagainst.’

‘Why? Because you areafraid to fight? Because youareonlyhalfaman?’

Helookedathersadly.Shehad shown so often - andparticularly of late - that shedespisedhim.

‘Youknow the reason,’hesaid. ‘I have come on acrusade.Idonotintendtousemyarmiesinotherwars.’

Hereyesflashed.‘Areyouakingintruth?’

‘You know I am theKingofFranceandyoutheQueen.

It would become you tobehaveassuch.’

Was this an implicationthat he knew of heradventures?Shewouldratherboldly confess to herindiscretions than that heshoulddiscoverandthinkshehadsoughttohidethem.

‘Itiscleartome,’shesaid,‘that you and I should neverhavemarried.’

‘Neverhavemarried!Ourswas a marriage which washighly approved both inFranceandAquitaine.’

‘Ihavemuchtobringyou.You had something to giveme. That in itself was notdispleasing. But as man andwoman, Louis, you mustknow that we are quiteunsuited.’

‘As King and Queen wemustagreetosuiteachother.’

‘Whyso?’

He looked astonished.‘Howcoulditbeotherwise?’

‘There is such a thing asdivorce.’

‘Divorce! You cannot beserious.TheKingandQueenofFrancedivorced!’

‘I see no reason why amarriage which is unsuitableand distasteful should becontinued.’

‘Distasteful?’

‘To me … yes! I want aman for a husband not amonk.Letushaveadivorce.I will marry again and youcan go back to the Church.That isanadmirablesolutionforusboth.’

‘I donot thinkyou canbespeakingseriously.’

‘I am deadly serious. Ihave had enough of this,

Louis.Iwantmyfreedom.’

‘You would give up thecrownofFrance?’

‘Itdoesnotmeansomuchto me, and you, Louis, willhavetogiveupAquitaine.’

‘Iwouldnothavebelievedthispossible.’

‘No, you would not. Youareonlyhalfalive.Yourheartis in theChurch.Go back tothe Church and give me my

freedom.’

Hewas silent.He satonastool and stared blanklyaheadofhim.

‘Well?’ said Eleonoreimpatiently.

‘This is amatter of State,’repliedLouis. ‘Imust talkofitwithmyministers.’

‘Talkwithwhomyouwill,but give me my freedom. Irepeat, Louis, I have had

enough. It is time you and Iparted.’

She lay down and closedhereyes.

Louis continued to sitstaringintospace.

The next day Louissummoned his counsellorsandconfrontedthemwiththeQueen’sproposal.

It was impossible, he was

toldbysome.Therecouldnotpossiblybeadivorce.

Others thought that theQueen’s behaviour was notthat expected of a Queen. Ithad never been. The Queencame from the South and allknewthatmoralsintheSouthwere less strict than those inthe North. The Queen’sgrandfather had been anotoriousroue,andtheQueencontinued his practice of

keeping a court of songstersand some of the songs theysang were not in the besttaste.

Aquitaine was to beconsidered. There would betrouble there. If the Kingcould retain the Queen’sterritory then divorce mightbeanadmirablesolution.TheKing could then marry adocileprincess,getasonandthere would be no more

trouble in the royal domesticcircle.

Louis was distraught. Shedespised him but he lovedher. Strange that hewhohadnever been interested inwomen should have felt sostrongly about one, and shehis wife. When he had firstseen her, young, vital,beautiful and clever, herquick mind putting his toshame, he had adored her.

She had reconciled him tomarriageandkingship.Butheknew that lately she haddespised him. She hadrefused to make love withhim. Not that he wished toindulge in this occupationwithanygreatfrequency.Buttherewas the need to get anheir for so far they only hadlittle Marie. Yet she hadrepulsed him, and that wasstrange, for Eleonore in thepast had revelled in the act

and had often lured him toperformitmoreoftenthanhewouldhavethoughtofdoing.

Shereallydiddespisehim.Therewasnodoubtof itandhewasuncertainhowtoact.

Thierry Galeran, theeunuch, asked for a privateinterviewwithhim,andwhenLouisgranted itGaleran saidhe had come to talk of adelicatematter,andbeforehebegan, he craved the King’s

indulgence if he should sayanythingtooffendhim.

Louis, who was the mosttolerantofmen,wassurprisedand asked Galeran to saywhathehadtowithoutfearofgivingoffence.

‘It concerns the Queen,Sire.’

Louis looked distressedandGaleranhurriedon.‘It iswith great grief that I must

tell you this, but the Queenhasnotbeenfaithfultoyou.’

Louisshookhisheadbutinhishearthehadknown.

‘You must not make suchaccusations, Galeran, unlessyou have proof of what yousay.’

‘I have proof, Sire. TheQueen has behavedcriminallywithtwomen.Heruncle Raymond and the

PrinceSaladin.’

‘That is impossible. TheQueen’s own uncle and aninfidel!’

‘It has happened,’ saidGaleran. ‘I can bringwitnesses to support mystory.’

Louis was stunned. Thatthe Queen should have beenunfaithful perhaps did notsurprise him so much, but

that she should have chosento play him false with twosuchpeoplewasunthinkable.HeruncleandaSaracen!Hadshe no feeling for theproprieties of life! Her ownuncle. That was incest. ASaracen - a man not of herowncreedandcolour!

He knew that Galeranwould not have made theaccusation if he could notsupport it. He knew too that

his father had been rightwhenhehadsaidthatGaleranwas a man whom he couldtrusttoservehim.Itwastruethat Eleonore hated Galeran.She had made causticcomments about him. Shedespised eunuchs, and beingheadstrongandimpulsivehadmade no effort to hide hercontempt. Galeran wouldhave no warm feelingstowardsher,yettheremustbesometruthinhisaccusations.

‘It would seem, Sire, thatthereisonlyonecourseopento you. To rid yourself ofsuchaQueen.’

‘Youheard the findingsoftheCouncil.’

‘If some means could befoundtokeepherlandsundertheCrownofFrance…’

The King shook his head.‘Imagine the wars, Galeran.The people of Aquitaine

would take up arms againstus. They are loyal toEleonore.Theywouldacceptnootherruler.’

Galeranwasthoughtful.

‘You will not continue tostayhereandallowtheQueento deceive you. It would putyou into a position whichmust be unacceptable to anyman and doubly so to theKingofFrance.’

‘You are right, Galeran.We must leave here withoutdelay.ButtheQueenwillnotagreetogo.’

Galeran said: ‘The Queenmustbemadetogo.’

‘Short of carrying her byforce I seenowayofgettinghertoleave.’

‘Then,Sire,wemustneedscarry her by force, for youwill see and so will your

counsellors, that the presentstateofaffairsisonenottobetolerated by the King ofFrance.’

Louis bowed his head. Hewas deeply wounded andbitterly humiliated. He keptthinking of the first time hehad seen her and been soenchanted by her beauty andintelligence.

Whathadgonewrong thattheyshouldcometothis?

She was going to meet herlover. How courteousRaymondwas!Howgallantlyhe stood aside for Saladin!This was how life should belived.Shehadalwaysknownit.Lovewassupreme, thatofwhich they sang in theirballads was truth. Nothingelse was of any importance.She was going to rid herselfof Louis. She was going tomarry Saladin. He would

become aChristian and theirmarriage would be the firststep towards bringingChristianitytoIslam.

What a joyful manner inwhich to bring about thatdesired conclusion! Shewould be almost a saint forwhat she had done forChristendom - and at thesame time bringing great joytoherself!

The summer house in the

garden was their meetingplace. It had proved so goodfor her and Raymond, andRaymond now stepped asideandleftittoherandSaladin.

As she passed the bushessheheard thesnapofa twig.Shelookedoverhershoulderand as shedid sowas seizedinapairofstrongarms.

She expected to see herlover’s face, and smiling sheturned. Shewas looking into

the hated eyes of ThierryGaleran.

‘Whatareyoudoinghere?’shedemanded.

‘I have come to tell youthattheKingisabouttoleaveAntiochandwishesyoutogotohimwithoutdelay.’

She was furious. Howdared this man lay hands onher!Shewasabouttodemandherreleasewhentwosoldiers

appearedbesidehim.

‘This is treason,’ she said.‘Ishallhaveyoupunished…severely.Youshallbe…’

‘My lady,’ said Galeran,‘we obey the orders of theKing.’

‘The orders of the King!Whatofthem!Itellyou…’

‘We are the King’s men,’saidGaleran.‘Ibegyoucomequietlyorweshallbeobliged

touseforce.’

‘Howdareyou…’

But she was seized by theshoulders. The indignity wasmore than she could bear.Where was Saladin? WherewasRaymond?

Filledwithragebyherownpowerlessness, she had noalternative but to allowherself to be hustled out ofthegardens.

More soldiers appeared.She was wrapped in aconcealing cloak and forcedto go with them through thecityandoutofitswalls.

TheretheFrencharmywascamped ready for immediatedeparture.

Furious, frustrated butpowerless, Eleonore had noalternative but to go withthem.

ChapterIV

THEROYALDIVORCE

She was a prisoner - aprisoner with her husband’sarmy.

Theywereon theirway to

JerusalemandalthoughLouiswasdistressedbytheriftwithhiswifehefelthappierinhismind to contemplate theproximityoftheHolyCity.

Eleonore was furious. Shewouldneverforgivehim,shedeclared. He had abductedher.Hehadtreatedhertotheutmostindignity.Hehadsenther old enemy, Galeran, toarrestheras thoughshewereacommonfelon;andshehad

been forced to leave withoutsayingfarewelltoherfriends.

What would they think ofher? What would they thinkofLouis?Shewashumiliatedand she hated the source ofherhumiliation.

Those were unhappymonths for Louis. She neverceased railing against him;she liked to taunt him withhisperformancebothasloverandsoldier.

‘Go back to the Church,’she would cry. ‘Go to amonk’scell.Butfirstfreemeso that I may marry a manwhoisaman.’

She hoped that Raymondor Saladin would comeagainstLouisand rescueher.But perhaps that was askingtoo much. It would make abeautiful ballad, but real lifewas not exactly like that.Raymond had his great plan

to think of: making war ontheGreeks.AsforSaladinhewould doubtless remain aninfidel and the greatopportunity to bring Islampeacefully to Christianitywouldbelost.

Sherailedandstormed,butit was of no avail. Theymarched on, and in duecourse came to JerusalemwhereKingBaldwinwarmlyreceived them. This was

Louis’s destination. Now hecould say his prayers andreceiveabsolution.ThesinofVitry could drop from hisshoulders. He should havefelt exultant. But he did not.Constantly Eleonore madefriction between them.Baldwin wished him to joinin with plans for aggressionagainst the infidel, and thepeacehecravedwasasfaroffasever.

HewouldstayinJerusalemfor a while, he declared.Eleonorewasrestive.

‘What good do you dohere?’shedemanded.

‘Don’t you feel the peaceoftheplace?ThisistheHolyCity.HereyouandIwillpraytogether for the strength andcouragetomakeanewstart.’

‘The new start I wish tomake does not include you,’

retortedEleonore.

Shewasfurious.Shecouldnot get the perfections ofSaladin out of hermind. Shehad given up hope now thathe would bring an army totakeherfromherhusband.

Of one thing she wascertain. There was going tobeadivorcefromLouis.Shewould not rest until she hadachieved that.And if shedidnotmarrySaladin-whichon

more careful considerationseemed perhaps a recklessthingtodo-therewereothermen in the world, young,virile rulers who would bedelighted to get their handson Eleonore … andAquitaine.

She would find somone.But first she must put intoeffectherescapefromLouis.

The days dragged on. Louis

foundgreatsolaceintheHolyCity. Here, he was fond ofpointing out, had trod thosesacred feet. Here he was atpeace. He wished that hecould spend the rest of hisdaysintheholyspot.

Howhewished thereneednot be this continual talk ofwar,thoughherecognisedtheneedtorepeltheinfidel.

His ministers pointed outto him that it was unwise to

leave his kingdom too long.His brother Robert wasnotoriously ambitious. Thepeople had been loyal toLouis but memories wereshort and he had been awaysolong.

Eleonore was agitating toleave. She knew that therecould be no satisfactoryconclusion to their affairswhile they were away. Theymust return to France and

havethemattersortedout.

Stillthemonthspassedandwhen they had been inJerusalem an entire year,Louis realised that he coulddelay no longer. He mustreturn to his kingdom.Vessels were procured atSaint-Jean d’Acre and as theKing of Sicily was at warwith Greece his countryseemedagoodplaceforthemtomakefor,onthewayback

toFrance.

Eleonore declared that shewouldnottravelintheKing’sshipbutwouldhaveashipofherownandtravelwiththosewho were her friends. TheKing could go with hisentourage, she pointed outbitterly. Men such as theeunuch Galeran who seemedtopleasehimsomuch.

Feelingitwouldbegoodtoescapefromherbitter tongue

forawhile,Louisagreedandthey set sail in themonth ofJuly in their separatevessels.After the year in Jerusalemmemories of Saladin werebeginning to fade, but thoseofRaymondremained.

Perhaps, thoughtEleonore,inawayshehadreallylovedRaymond.

That journey by sea fromSaint-Jean d’Acre was oneEleonorewouldnever forget.

She had not believed therecouldhavebeensuchmisery;as she lay in her bunk shewished that she could die.This was utter degradationand discomfort. Occasionallyshe thought cynically of thedays in Paris when she hadplanned this trip; of thebeautiful garments she hadaccumulated and the dreamsthat had come to her. Howdifferentwas the reality!Yetshe tried to remind herself

therehadbeen thewonderfulexperiences with Raymondand Saladin. Alas theyseemed as remote as herchildhoodnow.

She cursed Louis. He wastheonewhohadhadtheideathat they should set out forthe Holy Land. He was theone who had forced her toleave Antioch. But for himshe would be there now inblissful comfort and

exhilaratingcompany.Ofonething she was determined.She was going to divorceLouis.

On and on went the ship.Would the journey neverend? Often she believed thatthe vessel would sink andthey would all be drowned.Sometimes she thought theymightbetakenbypiratesandhalf hoped they would.Anything would be better

than these days when therewasnothingaround thembuttheeternalsea.

Shebecameillandfordayswas delirious. At least, shethought afterwards, at thosetimesIdidnotknowwhereIwas.

Herattendantsdespairedofher life, and whenmiraculously they finallyreached Naples in safety shehad to be carried ashore, so

weakwasshe.

Louis had already arrived.He had passed throughseveraladventures.

Hesatbyhercouch in thepalacewhichhadbeenputattheir disposal, and she couldsee that he was hoping shehadchangedhermind.

‘I feared you were lost atsea,’hetoldher.

She smiled wanly and

thought: I hoped you were.But she was too weak toindulgeinvituperation.

‘I thought my end hadcome,’hesaid, ‘whenoneofManuel’s ships overtook us,boarded us, and I became aprisoner of the GreekEmperor.’

‘Ifyouhadjoinedwithmyuncle against him thatwouldnot have happened,’ sheremindedhim.

‘God was with me,’ wentonLouis.‘Hemadethatclearwhenhe sent theSicilians tocapturetheGreekshipwhichwascarryingme.’

‘So you became theprisoner of the Siciliansinstead of the Greeks,’ shesaidcoldly.

‘Indeed I was not. TheKing of Sicily treated me asanhonouredguest.’

‘He had attacked theGreeks.Hehadseenthatthiswasthewisethingtodo…asRaymonddid.’

‘Oh wars!’ said Louis.‘Little good ever came ofthem.’

‘Except that kings gainedtheir crowns through themand prevented others fromtakingthem.’

‘The King of Sicily gave

meshipsthatImightcometoNaples andmeetyouhere aswe had arranged. It wasGod’s will that he shouldrescue me from the Greeks.Eleonore, we have sufferedmuch, both of us. God hasbeengoodtous.Letusforgetourdifferences.’

She turned her face to thewall.

‘We have a daughter,’continued Louis. ‘We will

have more children … sons.Eleonore, we must try to begoodparentstoourdaughter.Wemustgetamaleheir.Letusstartagain.’

‘I am determined to befree,’ said Eleonore. ‘AndwhileweareherewemustgotoRomeandseethePope.’

Louisshookhishead.

‘Ihadhoped,’hesaid,‘thatinviewofeverythingthathas

happenedwemightforgetourdifferences.’

‘It is because of what hashappened that I rememberthem,’saidEleonore.

And Louis knew she wasadamant.

Louis was bewildered. Hewas torn between twoemotions. His love forEleonore was one and the

otherhisdesireforapeacefullife.

His feelings astonishedhim.Hecouldnotunderstandthe powerEleonore had overhim. She with her sensuousdemanding body might havebeenrepulsivetoamanofhisaesthetictastes.Notso.Inherpresence he felt stimulatedand he had come to theconclusion that unhappy asshemadehimhewasmoreso

without her. He knew that ifshe had her way and therewas a divorce, duty woulddemand that he marriedelsewhere. He did not wantthat.Whatheprayed forwasareconciliationwithhiswife.Yet heknew that if he couldhave escaped from thisstrange power she exerted, ifhe could have given himselfuptoalifeofmeditationandprayerhewouldhavebeenacontentedman.How ironical

that there were men ofambition who longed aboveall things for a crown, whileonesuchashimselfwhohadhad thatcrown thrustonhimwouldhavegivenagreatdealto be able to pass it on tosomeoneelse.

Suger was writing urgentletters from Paris. He hadheard of the scandalssurrounding the Queen andthe talk that a divorce had

beensuggested.

Did Louis understand thefull implications of this?What of his daughter? If hewere wise he would seek areconciliationwiththeQueenand at least do nothing untilhe returned to Paris anddiscussed the situation withSugerhimself.

ToshelvethemattersuitedLouis.He hated tomake bigdecisions. Let it wait. There

was always hope that thedifficulties could besmoothed out. Eleonore wastoo weak now to indulge insensational love affairs suchasthoseshewassaidtohaveenjoyed with her uncle andSaladin. She had sufferedmore than he had by the seavoyageinspiteofhiscaptureandrelease.

‘Wemustdonothingrash,’said Louis. ‘We must get

back to Paris and there wewill see if a solution can bereached which will besatisfactorytousboth.’

Eleonore, her energydrainedbyherrecentordeals,agreed with unusualmeekness.

Pope Eugenius III, being inexile from Rome, was inresidence atTusculumwherehegaveseparateaudiencesto

bothLouisandEleonore.

He had problems of hisown but he was prepared togive great consideration tothe dilemma of a man aspowerful and as devoted tothe Church as the King ofFrance.

It was his opinion that adivorce would be disastrous,and he toldLouis this.Louiswas in complete agreementwithhim.

It was not so easy toconvinceEleonore.

ThePopereceivedherwitha show of affection and toldher that he deplored thenature of her problem. TheQueenofFrancehaddutiestoher country. She could notindulge in lightandfrivolousconduct, and this was whatshewoulddoifsheaskedforadivorce.

Why did she need a

divorce? Because she nolonger loved her husband?She must then pray for thereturn of that love. Shemustremember that her husbandwas the King of France.Could she not see that thefortune of Francewas boundup in the lifeof itsKingandQueen? It was her duty tolove her husband; to giveheirstothecountry.

Eleonore pointed out that

she and Louis were closelyrelated. Louiswas her fourthcousin. It was small wonderthat in such circumstancesthere should have been onlyonechildofthemarriage.

ThePopestressedherduty.It would be sinful for her toseekadivorce fromLouis. Itwould displease God, and inview of her recent conduct -ifrumourdidnotlie-shewasin urgent need of his

clemency.

There was no doubt thatEugenius was a powerfulpersuader. Moreover he wasthe Pope and his very officeput an aura about him ofwhich even Eleonore couldnotbeunaware.

Hetalkedeloquentlyoftheneed todoone’sduty,of theeternal damnationwhichwasawaiting those who failed inthis, of the heavenly bliss

which was the lot of thosewho succeeded. It was truethatshefeltill,drainedofherusual abundant energy. Shefound herself kneeling inprayer and promising to givehermarriageanotherchance.

That night in the Pope’spalace at Tusculum sheshared Louis’s bed oncemore; and it seemed like theblessing of Heaven when,beingbythistimeontheway

back toParis, shediscoveredthatshehadconceived.

Pregnancy brought a certaincontentment. She foundreunion with little Marie apleasure. She was surprisedthat she should have thesestrong maternal feelings.Theycompensatedher for somuch.

HerfeelingstowardsLouishad not changed and she felt

angry because she had beenlured back to him. She oftenthought of what might havehappenedifshehadnotbeenpersuadedbythePope.Therecould have been anothermarriage. She had much tobring a bridegroom. Beauty,experience, sensuality andrich lands.What more couldanywomanoffer?

Often she thought ofRaymond, and wondered

whatwouldhavehappenedifshe had divorced Louis andmarriedSaladin.Hehadbeenanexcitinglover,perhapsthatwasduetothestrangenessofhim, the fact that he was aninfidel.ButinherheartitwasRaymond whom she hadpreferred - her own uncle.Well, perhaps that was whytheyunderstoodeachothersowell. He was certainly thehandsomestmanshehadeverseenorwaseverlikelyto.

She had heard news ofhim, how disappointed hewasthatLouiswouldnothelphim in his fight to drive theSaracensfromthe landaboutAntioch,whichwas the roadtoJerusalem,andthathehaddecided to go into battlewithout the allies he hadhoped for. She wished himwell. He had convinced herhownecessaryitwastomakethe land safe for Christians,necessary not only for

pilgrimsof the futurebut forRaymond himself if he weretoholdAntioch.

For the time though shecould enjoy a calm serenitywhilesheawaitedthebirthofherchild.

And the day came whenthis child was born. It wasanother girl! Louis wasbitterly disappointed. If hehad been given a son hebelievedthat thiswouldhave

been a sign of hisreconciliation with God. Hiscrusade had been a bitterdisappointment both costlyand purposeless. Little goodhad come out of it - so littlethatheneedneverhavedoneit. The cries of thosecondemned to the flame atVitrystillranginhisears;hehad come near to losing hiswife and had discovered anunbridled sensuality in hernaturewhichdidnotstopher

from acting criminally. Thathad been a bitter voyage ofdiscovery. Yet he hadsuffered,andhehopedfoundfavour in the sight of God,and some forgiveness of hissins. If he had been given ason he could have convincedhimselfthatGodwassmilingonhim.

Butadaughter!

Eleonore suffered no suchdisappointment.Asheiressof

Aquitaine she would notaccept the general belief thatboys were superior to girls.She was content with herlittlegirl.

The child was christenedAlix.

For a short while she couldgive herself up to thepleasuresofmotherhood.Shecouldhave littleMarieatherbedside and show her the

baby, delighting in herchildren in a manner whichastonishedthoseabouther.

Itwouldnotlastofcourse.She was weak from herconfinement, and fascinatedby the role of motherhood.Shemustmake a song aboutit. It was as beautiful as theemotionsonefeltforalover.

Shehopedshewouldhavemanychildren -boysaswellasgirls.

ButnotwithLouis.

Somewhere in her mindshe knew that the idea ofdivorce had only been setaside by her. She wouldreturntoit.

Oneofherwomenbroughthertheterriblenews.ItcamethroughGaleran, the eunuch.He had told the woman thathe thought the Queen wouldwishtoknow.

In the fighting roundAntioch, Raymond had beenkilled and the Saracens hadsenthisheadtotheCaliphofBaghdad.

When she heard this newsshelistened,hereyesdilated.Raymond dead. She picturedthe head she had so oftencaressed, held high andmocked-thatbeautifulhead!

She had loved Raymond.He was her own flesh and

blood.Hehadbeenmorethanalover.

And if Louis had been aman, ifhehaddonehisdutyand fought side by sidewithRaymond, this might neverhavehappened.

Thenshefelltothinkingofthe humiliating manner inwhich she had been takenfrom Antioch, abducted onemight say. How could sheever have believed she could

liveinamitywithamanwhohadtreatedherso.

She was aroused from thelethargywhichhadpossessedher since that fearful journeyby sea to Naples, where shehad suffered so that all herstrengthwassappedfromher.

‘Whogaveyouthisnews?’sheasked.

‘It was Thierry Galeran,my lady. He thought you

wouldwishtoknow.’

Galeran! That despisedeunuch!Thathalfman!A fitcompanion for Louis! Hethought she ought to know.He was exulting in herwretchedness.He itwaswhohad spied on her andRaymond,andcarriedtalestoLouis.

‘I will not stay here,’ shepromised herself. ‘I willdivorceLouis.’

Themore she considered thematter the more determinedshebecame.Sheshouldneverhave allowed the Pope topersuadehertocontinuewithher marriage. It had beenagainst her judgement andshewouldneverhaveagreedhad she not been sick. Thatterrible seavoyagehadupsether more than she hadrealised; and now here shewaswithtwodaughtersanda

husbandwhomshedespised.

She was determined tobringuponcemorethematterofthedivorce.

Shedidnotrealisethatshecould scarcely do this whileLouis was beset by conflictonallsides.In thefirstplacehis brother Robert, a veryambitious young man whohad never stopped railingagainst fate for bringing himinto the world after his

brotherLouiswhenhewouldhave made a much moresuitable king, was roamingthe country calling people tohisbanner.Hewouldbeableto rule France, he assuredthem; he was strong; hisbrother was a weakling whowas never meant to be king.Nor had Robert for thatmatter. But who could haveguessed that Philippe theirbrother should have beenrobbed of his crown and

earthly glory by a commonpig?ThefactwasthatFrancemust have a king and Louiswas at heart a monk. Robertbelieved that for the good ofthe country Louis should bedeposed, sent back to theChurchandhe,Robert,setupasking.

Louis was deeplydistressed. Not another war,he prayed. And brotherfighting against brother was

distressing. He wanted nomoreVitrys.

That matter was quicklysettled by the people ofFrance. They did not wantambitious Robert; theypreferred Louis. Louiswas agood man. Hadn’t he justreturnedfromtheHolyLand?God would surely be on hisside,andtowagewaronhimwould be tantamount towagingwaragainstGod.

They would remain loyaltoLouis;theywouldpraythathe would give them a maleheir soon, and then theywouldbe sure that theyweredoingGod’swill.

So while Louis wasengagedinthisconflictitwasnotpossible to talk tohimofa divorce. But she wasdeterminedto.

Then there was anotherconflict.

Normandy had alwaysbeen a source of anxiety tothe Crown of France. TheDukes were too powerful,mainlybecausesinceWilliamthe Conqueror had becomethe King of England, whileremaining Duke ofNormandy, there was themight of England to contendwith. Now GeoffreyPlantagenet laid claim to thedukedom.

Geoffrey at a very earlyage had been married toMatilda,thedaughterofKingHenry I of England. Themarriagehadbeenadisaster,forhusbandandwifehadhadnoregardforeachotherfromthe beginning. Matilda, astormy, passionate, arrogantwoman,whobelievedshehada right to the throne ofEngland-andindeedshehadfor she was the onlylegitimate issue of King

Henry - was ten years olderthanGeoffreyandatthetimeoftheirmarriagehehadbeenonly fifteen. Matilda had atfirst refused to livewith himand had spent scarcely anytime in his company.However she had later beenprevailed upon to stay longenough with him to producethreesons.

The eldest of these was ayouth - christened Henry -

who was already making anameforhimselfasasoldierand one with the necessaryqualitiestorule.Matilda,whowouldneverhaveany regardforherhusband,dotedonthisson and had made up hermind that he would one daybecome King of England.This was her onlyconsolation.ShehadfailedtowrestthecrownfromStephenbut her son should inheritwhatwashisbyright.

Louis, as King of France,was outside the quarrelbetween Matilda andStephen, but ever since theburning of the church atVitry,Louishadshowngreatfriendship for Theobald ofChampagne and his family.Theobald’s son, Henry, hadjoinedthecrusadeandduringthatadventurousperiodLouishadkepttheyoungmanathisside.

Theobald was the elderbrother of Stephen, King ofEngland, and Stephen had asonEustace.Knowing of theterrible remorse Louis hadsuffered through the burningofVitry,Stephenthoughtitagood idea to get his brotherTheobald and his nephewHenry to persuade Louis tohelp him secure NormandyforhissonEustace.

Thus it was that Henry of

Champagne gradually beganto persuade the King ofFrance that he should favourthe cause of Eustace againstthatofGeoffreyofAnjouandhiswifeMatilda.

Louis was perturbed. ‘Iwould notwish to see awarbetween France andNormandy,’hesaid.

Theobald, who had cometocourttoaddhispersuasionto his son’s, began to

enumerate the points againstGeoffrey of Anjou and hiswife.

Matilda was an arrogantwoman. She had a way ofantagonising everyone whocamenearher.IftheKingofFrance showed the peoplethat he was against her andherhusbandtheywouldstandbehind Louis and KingStephentoaman.

‘There must be some who

wouldbefaithfultoHenryofAnjou,’ said theKing. ‘I canseeconflict.Idon’twantit.Iwantpeace.’

At the same time Louisbelieved that if he joinedforces, with Stephen hewould be doing a service toStephen’s family andStephen’s brother wasTheobald to whom the townofVitryhadbelonged.

Hemustexpiatehissin,for

the cries of people beingburned to death by hissoldiersstillranginhisears.

Finally Louis decided thatbecause of Vitry he wouldjoin forces with Stephen’sbrother and try to wrestNormandy fromMatilda andherhusband.

The Abbe Suger arrived inParis. He wished to see theKingonurgentbusiness.

When they were alonetogetherheaskedLouis ifherealised that by going intobattle against Geoffrey andMatilda he was fighting theKingofEngland’sbattle.

‘Nay,’saidLouis.‘Idothisfor Theobald of Champagne.Iwrongedhim.BythisIwillrightthatwrong.’

‘Mylord,’saidSuger,‘youare deluded by Vitry. Thistown was sacked by your

soldiers, but it was not onyourorders.Youhavehelpedwagewarontheinfidel.Youhave expiated any sin youmay have incurred on thatscore.YouowenothingtotheCount of Champagne. Butyou do owe something toyour subjects. You shouldconsider well before youplungethemintoawarwhichwillonlybe to theadvantageoftheKingofEngland.’

Louis wavered and Sugerwent on: ‘Yes, you will behelpingKingStephen.And Iaskyoutoconsider:Ishethetrue heir to his throne? Youknowheisthenephewofthelate King Henry. Matilda ishis daughter. She would beQueen of England if hernature had not been sooverbearing that the peoplerepudiated her. Stephen rulesnotbyrightbutbecauseheisthe lesser of two evils. The

crown of England by rightbelongs to Matilda and herson is the true heir to thethroneashe is toNormandy.Youshouldconsiderthiswellbefore you side with ausurper.’

Louis was thoughtful. Itwastruehedidnotwishtogotowarandheknewverywellthat that was what it wouldmean.Yet on the other handhe wished very much to

pleaseTheobald.

‘Itistoolatetoholdback,’saidLouis.

‘Too late! Why should itbe? I doubt GeoffreyPlantagenet wants this war.All you have to do is towithdraw your support fromPrinceEustaceandthematterwillbesettled.’

‘SoNormandywill remainin the hands of Matilda and

herhusband.’

‘Whohavemorerighttoitthan Theobald’s brotherStephen. There will be abloodywar inEnglandwhenStephen dies if he does notrecognise Henry Plantagenetashisheir.’

‘Then what can I do?’askedLouis.

‘You can invite GeoffreyPlantagenettocourt.Youcan

discussthematterwithhim.’

‘Youthinkhewillcome?’

‘There is no doubt that hewill.Hedidnottakeuparmsagainst you in support ofRobert. That is something toremember.’

‘ThenIwillsendforhim,’said Louis, relieved in hisheart that war might beavoided.

So Geoffrey PlantagenetcametothecourtofFrance.

Geoffrey was at this timein his late thirties. He wasnotedforhishandsomelooksand his habit of wearing asprig in his hat of theplantagenistawhichhadearned forhimthenameofPlantagenet.

He was pleased to beinvited to court. He couldonly believe that Louis hadno heart for the fight.

Geoffrey was determined toholdon toNormandy for thesake of his son Henry, whowasnowaboutseventeen.

Therewasone thingaboutwhich Geoffrey and hisvirago of a wife agreed andthatwas that their sonHenrywas not only going to keephis hold on Normandy butwas going to take the crownof England on the death ofStephen.

Eustace, Stephen’s son,was not worthy of suchhonours - nor had he anyright to them. He, Geoffrey,had no intention of going toEngland to settle thatdifference. Matilda had triedit and failed. It was notdifficult to understand why.Their, son Henry wouldsucceedhewassurewhenthetimecame.Theboymustwinhisownspurs.Andhewould.

Still, ifhewere theheir toNormandy he would be in abetterpositiontofightforthecrownofEnglandand itwasalltothegoodthatLouishaddecided against going intobattle on behalf of Stephenandhisrelations.

So with great confidenceGeoffreyofAnjou,sportingaplanta genista in his hat,cametoParis.

Eleonore watching from a

window saw his arrival. Afine-looking man, shedecided;itwaslongsinceshehad seen one who remindedher, although faintly, ofRaymondPrinceofAntioch.

She would admit that hehad not Raymond’s goodlooks,finebearingandcharmof manners. But he was notlacking in these qualities.And therewasone importantvirtuesosadly lacking inher

husband. GeoffreyPlantagenetwasaman!

There was a friendlyatmosphere at court. Louis,now that he had beenpersuaded by Suger, wasdelightedthattherewastobenowar.Theobaldandhissonweredisappointed.Hewouldtry to make up to them insomeotherway.

HehadexplainedtoyoungHenry of Champagne that it

wouldbewrongtoindulgeinawaragainstthePlantagenetsonsuchanissue.

‘We must remember, mydear friend,’saidLouis, ‘thatGeoffrey Plantagenet’s wifeis the daughter of the lateKing of England, Henry I,and he was the son ofWilliam, Duke of Normandywho conquered England.Matilda has a claim to theDuchy which could never

rightly be that of EustacewhileMatildahassons.’

Theobaldandhissonwereangry.Louiswaslikeapieceof thistledown, they said toeach other, blown this wayand that by the wind. Theywouldhavetotrytopersuadehim later when thePlantagenethadleftcourt.

But Geoffrey had nointentionofleavingcourtjustyet. He was finding it all so

diverting and more thananythingwashedelightedbytheinterestoftheQueen.

Eleonore had shown fromthefirstthatheinterestedher.Sheinvitedhimtooneofhermusical occasions when sheherselfsangsongsofherowncomposing. They wereconcerned with the joy oflovingandbeingloved.

Geoffrey was not one toignore such gentle

innuendoes. Cursed with awife for whom he had noaffection or desire, for yearshe had been seekingconsolationelsewhere.

Matilda was now an oldwomanoffifty.Eleonorewassome twenty years younger.She seemed very young tohim, and shewas one of themost beautiful and attractivewomenhehadeverseen.

That the Queen of France

was light in her morals heknew full well. There hadbeen rumours about heradventures during thecrusade. Geoffrey of Anjouwas not one to refuse whatwasoffered.

Within a fewweeksofhisarrival at court he andEleonorewerelovers.

She liked to talk to him. Hewasamanofcharmandeasy

manners. He reminded hervery much of her uncleRaymond. Not that he couldequal him - no one could dothat,buttheresemblancewasthere and very agreeable toher.

Not only did she enjoytheir love-making but theirconversationwasamusing.

He told her of the wildconflicts that had ensuedbetweenhimselfandhiswife.

‘She still calls herself theEmpress because before shewas married to me she wasmarried to the Emperor ofGermany.’

‘Wehaveallheardtalesofthat virago,’ said Eleonore.‘What a time youmust havehadwithher!’

‘Thinkofthemostdifficultwoman in theworld and thatisMatilda.’

‘Andisshebeautiful?’

‘She was handsomeenough in her youth. But Iwas a boy of fifteen at thetimeofourmarriage.Shewastwenty-five. She seemed anold woman to me. I nevertook to her. And her temper…itisbeyonddescription.’

‘Butyougot threesonsbyher.’

‘We were at length

prevailed upon to do ourduty.’

‘And she loves thesesons?’

‘EvenMatilda isamother.Oureldestisafineboy.He’sgoing to rule England oneday.’

Thatwouldbe…Henry.’

‘Ah,youngHenry.Whatafellow!’

‘Is he as handsome as hisfather?’

‘He is the least handsomeof my sons. Not tall, butstocky and he cares not forhis looks.He refuses toweargloves in thecoldestweatherand his hands are chappedand red. He despises thegracesofliving.Hewillbeaman, he says. He is neverstill. He must be here, thereandeverywhere!He tiresout

allabouthim.He isaboy tobeproudof.’

‘Tellmemore of him. Heisveryyoung,ishenot?’

‘Seventeenwintersorso.’

‘Andheisreligious?’

‘His religion is to liveeveryminuteofhislifetothefull.’

‘I should like to see thissonofyours,’shesaid.‘What

doeshefeelforwomen?’

‘He likes them…he likesthemverywell.’

‘Likehisfathermayhap?’

‘Well,hehasalreadysiredtwobastards,Ihear.’

‘Andhebutseventeen!Heis not a man to waste histime.Ishallseehimthen?’

‘He will come to Paris toswearfealtytotheKing.’

‘He might have been myson-in-law. We did oncethinkofamatchbetweenhimandmydaughterMarie.’

‘ThatwasamatchIgreatlywishedtoseetakeplace.’

‘It was old Bernard ofClairvauxwhoopposed it…on grounds of the strongbloodtiebetweenthetwo.’

‘Thatwaswhathesaid.I’lldare swear he thought that

such an alliance would givetoo much to our house. Hewasneverafriendofours.’

‘We talk much of yourson.’

‘Yes, let us now considerourselves.’

Theydid,andwheninduecourse Geoffrey’s son HenryPlantagenet arrived at court,Eleonore was completelyoverwhelmed by the

personality of the youth. Hehadavitalitywhichshefoundintriguing; a virility whichwasundeniable.

Geoffreywasagood loverbut once she saw his son,Eleonore desired no otherman.

She could not understandit. This youth was by nomeans handsome. That hewas clever there was nodoubt;hehadanappreciation

of literaturewhich she foundexciting. But it was hisoverwhelming manlinesswhichattractedher.

She thought a good dealabout him. Duke ofNormandy and King ofEngland, for there was nodoubt inhermindas soonasshe saw him that he wouldsucceedinhisundertakings.

Stephen would die and hewould claim the crown of

England and get it.Ineffectual Eustace wouldhavenochanceagainsthim.

ShewantedHenry.Not asshehadwantedhisfatherandothers.Thiswasdifferent.

Henry was going to be aKing. She wanted to marryhim.

Alas,hewasnearlytwelveyears younger than she was.Asifshewouldallowsucha

trifle to stand in her way. Agreater obstacle was the factthatshewasmarried.Shehadasked for a divorce before,andfailedtogetit.Shewouldrenewher endeavours. It hadbeen different then. Beforeshe had been eager only toescape from Louis. Now shehad the added incentive. Shewanted a new husband. Thathusband must be HenryPlantagenet.And shemade avow that nothing was going

to stand in the way of hergettinghim.

It did not take her long tolure him to her bed. He wassensuous in the extreme andalready expert in suchmatters. It hadbeen said thathe took after his grandfather,thatotherHenry,whousedtodandlehimonhiskneewhenhe was a baby and had setsuchstorebyhim.

Thathewascuckoldingthe

KingofFrancemeantnothingtoyoungHenry,exceptthatitwassomethingofajoke;andthat the beautiful elegantQueenshouldbesoeagerforhim -withhis carelessmodeof dressing and his lack offastidiousness - amused himevenmore.

He was always ready toenjoyhimself.

When she hinted atmarriage,hewasalert.

Marriage for HenryPlantagenet with the heiressof Aquitaine! Not bad!Eleonore was a rich heiress.Noonecouldturnasidefromfruitful Aquitaine without agooddealofconsideration.

Itwasadazzlingprospect.EleonoreandAquitaine!

‘First of course I mustdivorceLouis,’saidEleonore.

Henryagreed.Hecouldnot

believe that that would beallowed. In the meantimethere was no reason why heshould not enjoy thehospitalityoftheQueen.

But Eleonore continued tothink of marriage. She wasdetermined to divorce theKingofFranceandmarrythisyoung Henry Plantagenet forshe believed there was littledoubt that he would becomeKing of England. Moreover

she was passionately in lovewithhim.

Louispacedupanddownthechamber. The Abbe Sugerwatchedhimsorrowfully.Hisfather had always feared thatLouishadnot the strength tomake a king. He had madetheAbbeSugerswearthathewould stand beside him andguide him. He would needguidance.And indeed he did

with such a wife. If only hehad married a simple docilewoman how differenteverythingwould have been!Instead of that this brilliantmatch had been made forhim,andwhathad itbroughthim?Twogirlsandawantonwife, a woman who wasopenlyunfaithful.

And now she wasdemandingadivorce.

ThereweretearsinLouis’s

eyesashefacedSuger.

‘What can I do?’ hepleaded.‘WhatcanIdo?’

‘You can tell the Queenthat what she is asking isimpossible.’

‘She will not let it restthere.’

‘TheQueenmust bemadetodoherduty.’

‘You do not know

Eleonore.’

‘Not know the Queen! Iknowherwell.Sheiswithoutdecency,withoutcarethatsheshoulddoherduty.’

‘Ihaveneverbeentherighthusbandforher.Ihaveneverbeen able to give her whatshewanted.’

‘YougaveherthecrownofFrance, Sire. Was that notenoughforanywoman?’

‘Not for Eleonore. Shewantedalustyman.’

‘For shame!You gave hertwochildren.Apity it is thatthey were not sons. Butdoubtless ifyougoon trying…’

Louis shook his headimpatiently.

‘She has asked me to talkto you. She is determined togetadivorce.’

‘On the grounds ofconsanguinity?’

Louis nodded. ‘It is truethatwearefourthcousins.’

‘You could divorce her onthegroundsofinfidelity.’

‘Nay, Iwould not do that.Suffice it that the bloodrelationshipisthere.’

‘I was saying that youcould divorce her for hercriminal conduct but you

wouldbeunwise todo so. Ifyou divorce her the lands ofAquitaine are lost to theFrench Crown. Sire, theremustbenodivorce.’

‘Shewants it.Shewillnotrest until our marriage isbroken.’

‘Think, Sire. What if shemarried again? Her husbandwouldrulewithherandifhewas the owner of vastpossessions what a powerful

neighbouryouwouldhaveinAquitaine.Nay, Sire, I couldneveragreetoadivorceforiftheQueenmarriedapowerfulnobleman,therewouldbetoomuch strength in theneighbourhood which wouldbe uncomfortably close toFrance.’

‘She will give me nopeace.’

Sugershookhishead.

‘I shall oppose a divorcewhilethereislifeinme,’saidSuger,Louissighed.HeknewthatSugerwouldneverallowthedivorcetogothroughandthat Eleonore would fret andfume and make lifeintolerableforthemboth.

RidingbacktoNormandytheyoung Duke Henry wasthinkingaboutEleonore.

What a woman! He had

never had amistress such asshe was before. She excitedhim; there was a passionabout her whichoverwhelmed him. He wasglad that she was older thanhewas-elevenyearswasit?She was so experienced. Hehad never denied himself hispleasures, and strangelyenough, although he was farfrom handsome, womenfound him irresistible. Atleastmanyhad;buttheywere

notofthecalibreofEleonoreof Aquitaine. That she -Queen of France, and awoman of great experiencewho had been to the HolyLandanditwassaidhadhadheradventures there - shouldhave found her need of himsogreatthatshehadlainwithhim in her husband’s palace,was the most exciting thingthat had ever happened tohim.

Shewasheartilysickofhermonk-likehusband.‘Heisnoman,’ she had complainedbitterly. ‘I would be rid ofhim.He shall go back to hisChurch and I will go to thebed of a husband who willknowhowtotreatmethere.’

Andthathusbandwastobehimself - he, not yet twentyyearsofage,amereDukeofNormandy, had been chosenby the Queen of France. Of

course he had prospects …oh, very great prospects; andmany believed that hewouldfulfil their prophecies. Dukeof Normandy, yes, but Kingof England too? Why not?His mother should be thesovereign of that countrynow,notthatupstartStephen.

AndhisQueen-Eleonore!Hehadtoadmitthatitwasanalluring prospect. She wasbeautiful; she had character;

she was different from anyother woman he had known;she was clever; she wrotesongs and sang themcharmingly. He couldappreciatethat.

He was glad now that hisuncle Robert - his mother’shalf-brother who was thebastardofKingHenryI-hadtakenchargeofhiseducation.UncleRobertwasamanwhoset great store by education.

He had said: ‘One day youwillbeakingandyoucannotbe an ignorant king.’He hadtaken him to his castle inBristol and there, as well asteaching him horsemanshipand chivalry and how towield a sword, he had madehim study - and among hisstudywasliterature-underaman known as MasterMatthew.

Hehadtakentolearningas

he took to anything thatinterested him. Now theirknowledgeofliteraturewasafurtherbondbetweenhimandEleonore, and when theywere satiated with love-making they could chat idlyofthesematters.Shesaidshehad never known a youngman so learned; he hadcertainly never known awomanascleverasshewas.

And she could bring him

Aquitaine.

Theonlythingthatstoodinthewayoftheirmarriagewasthatshewasmarriedalready-married to the King ofFrance.

‘He shall divorce me,’Eleonorehadcried.‘Heshall.Heshall!’

And in the presence ofsuch determination he couldbelievethatshewasright.

He was sure his fatherwould be pleased. Geoffreywas an ambitious man. Hehad fought hard to secureNormandyforhiswife,whichmeant for his son, Henryhimself. The thought ofallying Aquitaine withNormandy,MaineandAnjouwould delight him. It meantthat the Duke of NormandywouldbemorepowerfulthantheKingofFrance.Asforhismother she was obsessed by

England and she wouldrejoice in any move whichmade the family strongenoughtotakeit.

It was full of confidencethatHenryrodeintothecastleofAnjoutoseehisfather.Heknew that his mother wouldnotbe thereandhemustpaya separate visit to her. Hisparents were rarely togetherand although in their matureyears there had grown up a

kind of tolerance towardseach other there was noaffectionbetweenthem.

Hisfatherwasdelightedtosee Henry, who thought thathelookedwornandunlikehisusual rather jaunty self. Hewas handsome as Henrywould never be. Yet therewas something far morestriking about the youngerman’s vitality and he had acertain charm which his

fatherlacked.

Henry sought an earlymoment of being alone withhisfather,butbeforehecouldtell him his news Geoffreytalked to him very seriouslyofothermatters.

He seated himself on astool, his long legs stretchedoutbeforehim,lookingathisson. ‘Be seated, Henry,’ hesaid. ‘I have much to say toyou.’

‘AndItoyou,Father.’

Geoffrey nodded. ‘I havemuch on my mind,’ he said.‘Have you heard whatBernard of Clairvaux hasprophesied? Nay, you couldnotoryouwouldnotlooksounconcerned.HehassaidthatI shall be dead within theyear.’

‘Didyouoffendhimthen?’askedHenrycynically.

‘A difference of opinion.Hewishedme to release thattrouble-maker, de Bellay. Irefused and in doing so hetells me I have displeasedGodwhowillbeavenged.’

‘Is old Bernard in God’sconfidencethen?’

‘Heisaholyman,Henry.’

‘A plague on these holymen! They work forthemselvesanddeceiveus…

or perhaps themselves intothinking that their will isGod’s.Youarenotdisturbedbythisprophecy,Father?’

‘Iam,Henry.’

‘Then cease to be. I tellyou thatyouare asheartyasyoueverwere.Youhavenotyet seen fortywinters. Therearemanymorelefttoyou.’

Geoffrey took the plantfrom his hat and studied it -

thelittleplantagenistawhichhadgivenhimhissoubriquet.He held it out toHenrywhotook it wonderingly. ‘I shallinvest you with lands andpossessions without delay,Henry. You are my eldestson. You have brothers. Weare surrounded by ambitiousmen. You are young yet …oh, but a man I grant you.From your mother you willhaveNormandy andEngland-fromme,AnjouandMaine.

To your brother Geoffrey Ishall leave three castles inAnjou, but when you havebecomeKingofEnglandyoumust give him Maine andAnjou.’

‘Icarenottohearyoutalkofdeath,’saidHenry.

‘Bernard prophesied thedeath of the heir to theKingof France and you know fullwell that almost immediatelya wild pig entangled itself

with his horse’s legs andthrew him, and there on thegroundwas a sharp flint thatbroke open his head andenteredhisbrain.’

‘I would not allow a mantoprophesymydeath,Father.IfhedareddosoIshouldcallittreason.’

‘He is not my subject,Henry.’Hisfacelightened.‘Itmay be you are right. But atthe same time I am going to

makeagesture.YouandIaregoing to Paris and there Iwish you to be formallyacknowledged as Duke ofNormandy. You know thatStephen of England has hiseyes on Normandy for hisson, so I wish there to be aformal ceremony duringwhich Louis receives you asthe rightful Duke, and youswear allegiance to him asyour suzerain. I fear whatwouldhappenifIweretodie

suddenly.’

‘You are not going to die,Father.I’llprophesythat,andwhy should you not believeyour son instead of that oldghoulBernard?’

Geoffreysmiledandtakingthe sprig from his sonreplaceditinhishat.

‘All the same, Henry, IwishustogotoParis,andweshall make preparations to

departwithoutdelay.’

‘Nothing would pleasememorealthoughIhavejustleftthe French court. Now listentomynewswhichwillmakeyou smile. The French Kingand Queen are not on goodterms.’

‘Iknowitwell.Thewholeworld knows it.’ Geoffreysmiled, rememberingpassionate moments withEleonore.

‘Thereistalkofadivorce.’

‘Sugerwill never allow it.It would mean the loss ofAquitaine to the FrenchCrown.’

‘The Queen is a veryforcefulwoman.’

‘Iknowitwell!’

‘And she has set her hearton divorce. In fact she hasdecided to marry again andhaschosenherhusband.’

‘Sheshouldgetherdivorcefirstbeforeshegoesasfarasthat.’

‘I have no doubt that shewill succeed. Whom do youthink she has chosen for herbridegroom?’

Henry was smiling socomplacently that his fatherlooked at him withastonishment.

‘Yes, Father. She has

chosenme.’

‘You!’splutteredGeoffrey.‘That is quite out of thequestion.’

‘I thought you would bedelighted.’

‘Never!’ cried Geoffreyvehemently.

‘Have you forgotten thatshe would bring usAquitaine?’

‘You cannot marry thatwoman.’

‘Andwhyindeednot?’

‘She … she is married totheKing.’

‘ButFather,thereistobeadivorce.’

‘Thereneverwillbe.’

‘Therewillbe.Andifthereisandsheisfree,youandmymother will rejoice. You

must.ThinkofAquitaine.’

‘You cannot marryEleonore,’criedGeoffrey.

‘Icanwhensheisfree.’

Geoffrey was silent for afewmoments.‘Nay,’hesaid.‘You could not…not if shewere free and even thoughshe brought youAquitaine. Iwould never give myconsent.’

Henry’s temper, which

could be terrible, wasbeginningtorise.

‘Should I need yourconsent?’

‘Youwould need it if youwould bemy heir.’Geoffreylookedsteadilyathisson.‘Inview of what happenedbetween myself and theQueen of France I wouldnever consent to themarriage.’

‘Whatmeanyoubythat?’

‘Ihaveknownherwell…intimately.Youunderstand?’

Henrystaredathisfather.

Geoffrey had risen to hisfeet.Hestrodetothedoor.

He lookedbackathisson.‘For that reason,’ he said, ‘Iwouldnevergivemyconsentto the marriage, never …never…’

They were on their way toParis. Henry had raged andfumed. He had cursed hisfather, the old Abbe Sugerand everyone who wasputting an obstacle betweenhim and his marriage withEleonore.

So she was a woman ofstrong passions. He hadknown that. So she hadadventuredduringthecrusadeshe had made to the Holy

Land. There were rumoursabout her relationship withher uncle and aSaracen, andhis own father had admittedto committing adultery withher. Well, she was Eleonoreandunique.The fact that shehad passed through theseadventures made her all themoredesirabletohim.Dramaencircled her.Many a princehad his bride found for himandhewasgivenasimperingvirgin for whom he could

have little fancy.Hewas notlike other princes. He hadalwaysknownhewasunique.Agreatfuturelaybeforehimand that future was going tobesharedwithEleonore.Theobstacles which people wereputtinginhiswayweregoingto be thrust aside. He wouldarrangethat.

And now to Paris. Hewould see her there. Shewould watch the ceremony

when he swore fealty to hererstwhile husband, and atnighthewouldcreepintoherbedchamber where theywouldmakeloveandplans.

So although he had ragedagainst his father and allthose who stood in his way,hewas now content.Hewascertainof success. In theendandwhenitcameitwouldbeall the more enjoyablebecause it had not been easy

toattain.

Whatajoyitwastoembraceher, to indulgeinthatviolentandcompulsive love-making.There was no one like her.Eleonore was different - atigress compared with whomall other women were tamelambs. Moreover she couldbring him Aquitaine. Hisfather was being foolish tostand out against a marriage

whichcouldbringsomuchtoAnjouandNormandy-andindue course England, and allbecause Eleonore had sharedhis bed. Poor Eleonore! Apassionatewomanmarried toa monk. What could beexpected but that she shouldtryoutmennowandthen?Itmade her all the moreappreciative of him, Henry,just as his amorousadventures made him certainthat there was no woman in

the world to compare withher.

She was equally delightedwith him. His love-makinglacked the grace of that ofRaymond of Antioch, butHenry’s was as much to hertaste. His youth was soappealing. She was sure thatHenry was the man shewishedtobeherhusband.

On the day of theceremony she sat beside

Louis on the dais and withglowing eyes watched theapproachofherlover.

Henry knelt before theKingofFranceandaskedthathistitleofDukeofNormandymight be confirmed by him.If the King would grant hispermission he would swearfealty to him and rememberas long as he held that titlethat hewas the vassal of theKingofFrance.

He unbuckled his swordandtookoffhisspurs.HelaidthematthefeetoftheKingofFranceandinreturntheKingtookahandfulofearthwhichhad been brought to him forthispurposeasasymbol thathe accepted HenryPlantagenet as Duke ofNormandy.

Then there was feastingandcelebrationwithGeoffreyseated on one side of the

KingandHenryontheother,and the comfortingknowledge that the powerfulCountofAnjouandtheKingofFrancewereallies.

The lovers foundopportunities to be together.Theymadeloveandtalkedofthefuture.

His father was against amarriage; the Abbe Sugerwasagainstit;buttheywouldfindaway.

‘My father must be wonover,’saidHenry.‘Asfortheold Abbe he can’t last forever. He looks more feebleeveryday.’

‘It must be soon,’ saidEleonore,‘forIhavesworntobeyourwifeandLouisisnotand never has been what Iwantinahusband.’

The fact that theywere sooften togetherwasnoticedofcourse. Courtiers smiled

behind theirhands. ‘First shetried out the father and nowthe son.No one can say thatourQueenwastestime.’

Geoffreywas powerless toprevent theirmeetingsand indue course the King’sadvisers told him that theQueenandtheyoungDukeofNormandy were causingscandalatcourt.

LouissentforGeoffrey.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that itwould be advisable for youand your son to leave mycourt.’

Geoffrey was of the sameopinion. He was angry thatEleonore and Henry shouldbe lovers. He would havelikedtoresumethatrolewithher himself. But when theymet she behaved as thoughtheyhadneverbeenanythingbut acquaintances, and she

certainly found the sonpreferabletohisfather.

‘They shall never marrywhileIlivetopreventthem,’hevowed.

It would have been pleasantriding through thecountrysideifhehadnothadto leave Eleonore behind.There were however othermatters to occupy Henry’smind.

He was now undisputedDuke of Normandy and thatwas pleasant to contemplate.If only Eleonore could haveforcedLouistodivorceherhewould be quite content… atthemoment.

Geoffrey was determinednot to discuss the matter oftheproposeddivorce.Hehadsaiditwouldneverbegrantedand that put an end to theaffair. He would attempt to

arrange a suitable match forhissonandthatshouldnotbedifficult for the Duke ofNormandy and his prospectswould make young Henry averydesirableparti.The day had grown very

hot and they were travel-stainedandweary.TheywereapproachingChateau duLoirwhenGeoffrey said, ‘Here isapleasantspottorestawhile.Let us stay here.Look, there

is the river. I should like tobathe in it. That would bemostrefreshing.’

Henry was willing. Theycalled a halt and the partysettled down under the treeswhile Geoffrey and his sonand a few of their attendantstook off their clothes andwentforaswimintheriver.

They shivered delightedlyin the cold water which wassorefreshingaftertheheatof

the day. They were loath tocome out andwhen they didtheylayonthebanktalking.

‘NowthatyouareDukeofNormandy youwill be readyto claim your otherinheritance,’saidGeoffrey.

‘Youmean…England.’

‘I do. The people wouldwelcome you. They rejectedyour mother it is true andaccepted Stephen, but they

only did this because shemadeherselfobjectionable tothem and Stephen was thereand,weakasheis,helackedyour mother’s arrogance.They will be ready for you,Henry.’

‘Yes, soon I must go toEngland.’

‘You must make Stephenunderstand that you are theheir.Hewill tryof course togive everything to his son

Eustace.’

‘Never fear, Father. Heshallnotdothat.’

‘You understand what acampaignlikethismeans?’

‘There have been othercampaigns, Father. You maytrustme.’

As they talked of Englandand how Eustace was aweakling,heavycloudsaroseandobscured the sun.Before

they could dress there was adownpour.Wet through theyreturnedtotheircamp.

That night Geoffreyrambled inhis sleep.Hewasinahighfever.

When the news wasbrought to Henry he went atoncetohisfather.

‘What ails you?’ he askedbut Geoffrey looked at himwithhopelesseyes.

‘It has come, Henry,’ hesaid.‘Ashesaiditwould.’

‘You’re thinking of thatman’s prophecy. He shouldbe hanged for treason. ‘Tisnothing,Father.Achill,that’sall. You stayed overlong bytheriver.’

‘Iamshiveringwithfever,’saidGeoffrey,‘andmorethanthat there is knowledgewithinme that this is the lasttime you shall seeme in the

flesh.’

‘I refuse to listen to suchtalk.’

‘Your concern does youcredit,myson.IfIamnottodepart with my sins on me,you had better send me apriest.’

‘Stop talkingso.Haveyounothadenoughofpriests?’

‘Methinks I need one tohelpmetoheaven,son.’

Henrysentforapriest.ThecertaintythathewasgoingtodiewasstrongwithGeoffrey.Hewanted to talk tohis son,explain to him the pitfallswhich could entrap a youngman. He himself had notenjoyedahappymarriedlife.He did not want the samethingtobefallHenry.

‘It should be a blessing,Henry,anditisoftenacurse.You should marry a good

docile woman, one who willbearyoumanysons.At leastMatilda gave me three. Butmy life with her, Henry, hasbeen one continual battle.There was never lovebetween us. I was ten yearsher junior. Never marry awoman older than yourself.Shewilldominateyou.’

‘I would never allow anywoman to dominate me,Father.’

‘That is what you maythink,but there isadanger. Ihated Matilda and shedespised me. I was a child.Fifteen and married to avirago of twenty-five whohad already been thewife ofthe Emperor of Germany.Imagineit.Mylife…ourlifetogetherwasahell.’

‘My mother is a verydifficultwoman.’

‘She lost England by her

temper. Think of it, Henry.Hadsheacteddifferentlyyouwould not have had to fightfor England. It would havebeenyours.’

‘Never fear. It shall bemine.’

‘I doubt it not. But yourmother has led us a finedance. Her father grew tounderstand her. But he wasdetermined that you shouldinheritthethrone.Heusedto

callyouHenrytheSecondofEngland.’

‘That is what I shallbecome.’

‘Itmustbeso.’

‘Doubtitnot.Nomanshallput his will in the way ofmine. No one.’ And hethought:Thatmeansyou,too,Father.ForIshallbeKingofEngland and Eleonore shallbemyQueen.

‘Beware of priests, Henry.Theywillseektogovernyou.You stand for the State, andthe State and Church arestrugglingforsupremacynowastheyeverdid.’

‘I know it well and willhave no masters. None,’declaredHenry.

‘I say goodbye now, myson. Bernard’s prophecy iscoming true.Apigkilled thesonoftheKingofFranceand

adipinariverkilledthesonof Fulk of Anjou; and bothprophesiedbyBernard.’

‘Heednotsuchprophecies,Father. You invite death bybelievingthem.’

‘Nay, my son. Death is inthisroom.Canyounotsensehis presence? Farewell. Youwill rule wisely. Marry wellandsoon,andgetfinesons.Amanneedssons.’

Geoffrey Plantagenet laystill and by the morning hewasdead.

Bernard’s prophecy hadcome true. Riding to hismother, Henry thought ofwhatthiswouldmeantohim.He was master of greatpossessions and one obstacleto his marriage had beenremoved by death. He wasonly eighteen years of age.He could be patient a little

longer.

That indomitable priest, theAbbeSuger,whomLouistheFathadinstructedtoguidehisson,wasnolongerthere.

His passing was deeplymournedbythepeopleforallknew him to have been agoodman,andhewasburiedwith great pomp at Saint-Denis.

After the funeral Eleonoreknewthatnownothingcouldstand in the way of herdivorce. Itwas only amatterof getting agreement fromLouis. He was weary of theargument.Perhapshetoowasbeginning tobereconciled toaparting.Perhapsherealisedthat he would be happiermarried to another woman,for marry he must, since hestillhadtogetamaleheir.

Eleonore was not thewoman forhim.Althoughhemightdivorceherongroundsof consanguinity everyoneknewthathecouldhavedoneso for adultery. Herreputation was well known.There had been many towitness her light behaviourduring the crusade and thenames of the Plantagenets,father and son, werementionedinconnectionwithher.

Eleonorecarednothing forthis. She was still beautiful;nor was she old; she wouldhavemany childbearing daysahead;moreover shewas therichestheiressinEurope.

With the oppositionremoved by the hand ofDeath, Louis’s resistance didindeed crumble. It was nolonger a question of whetherthereshouldbeadivorcebutonwhatgrounds.

Louis’s feelings forEleonore were somixed thathe could not entirelyunderstand them himself. Heknewinhisheartthathadshebeen contrite, had she givenhimherword that shewouldabandon her immoralway oflife,willingly hewould havetaken her back. She hadfascinated him; she still did;hecouldeasilyhaveforgivenher lapses from virtue if shehadbecomealovingwife.He

did not care for womengenerally, only Eleonore. Hehadlovedherforherself,andthe rich lands of Aquitainehad not influenced hisfeelings. But he did want aquiet, peaceful life and heknew he would never havethat with Eleonore. He mustdivorce her, but if only shehad given one little sign ofcontrition how happy hewouldhavebeen tomeetherhalfway!

Again and again hewouldthink of her with her lovers.Her own uncle! That waseven more criminal than theothers. Then a rare angerwould arise in him. I willdivorce her for adultery, hethought,and itwas in suchamood that he approached hisministers.

But he was the King ofFrance. He should not thinkof revenge, or his own

personal feelings. He mustonly think of what was bestforFrance.

If he divorced her foradultery he could not re-marry, for according to thelaws of the Church, oncemarried its members werealways married. It was hisduty asKing tomarry again.He had only two daughtersand the Salic laws of Francewouldpreventtheirinheriting

thethrone.

On the other hand if themarriage was ended becauseof consanguinity therewouldbenohindrancetoremarriagebecause, since their closeblood ties prevented theirmarriage being legal in thefirst place, they had neverreally been married, andeither was free to marryagain.

AsforthelittlegirlsMarie

and Alix, they could belegitimisedeasilyenough.

It was the answer. Themarriagewouldceasetoexistbecause of the close bloodtiesofLouisandEleonore.

It was the solution mostsatisfactorytoall.

Eleonore was eagerlyawaiting the outcome of themeeting of the council under

the direction of theArchbishopofBordeaux.ShehadtakenupresidenceinthechateauclosetothechurchofNotre-Dame de Beaugencywherethedecisionwasbeingmade.Shesatatthewindow,her eyes on the road.At anymoment a messenger wouldcome riding to the chateauand then she would knowwhetherornotshewasfree.

Onceshehadthenewsshe

would lose no time inmeeting Henry and theywould be married withoutdelay.

She would have to saygoodbye to her daughtersMarie and Alix. That hadbeenheronlyregret.Shehadsurprisedherselfbythedepthof her feelings for herchildren; but she knew thateven they could notcompensateherforthelossof

Henry, and she shuddered atthe thought of spending therest of her days with Louisfor the sake of girls whowould in a few years’ timemarryandleaveher.

No, she was too full ofvigour, too sensuous, tooegotistical to devote her lifetoothers.

Henrywasthemanforher.Shehadknown it in the firstfew weeks of their

acquaintance. Strong,egotistical himself, and asensualist,hisnaturematchedhers.Shehadknownfromthefirstthateventhoughshehada husband and Henry waselevenyearsyoungerthanshewas, he was the man shewouldmarry.

Now, in a fever ofimpatience,shewaitedforthemessengers. At last she sawthem. Two bishops attended

bytwogentlemenwereridingintothecastlecourtyard.

She ran down to meetthem.

‘Mylords,’shesaid, ‘youranswer.’

‘Mayweenter thecastle?’asked the Bishop of Langresreprovingly.

‘Nay,’ she criedimperiously. ‘I will wait nolonger to hear the verdict. I

command you tell meinstantlywithoutdelay.’

The bishop hesitated; thenhelookedresigned.

Hesaid:‘ItistheCouncil’sdecision that on account ofthe close blood relationshipbetween yourself and theKing they declare the nullityofthemarriage.’

Eleonore waited for nomore. A great joy had come

toher.

‘Comeintothechateau,myfriends,’ she said. ‘I wouldrefreshyou.’

Free! shewas thinking.Atleast free of Louis. Nomorewouldshehavetoenduretheboring companyof theKing,no more would she fretagainst a restriction on herfreedom.Shecouldgotoherlovernow.

There should be no delay.Assoonasshehadlistenedtothis tiresome deputation, shewould make preparations forher journey. Her first taskmust be to let Henry knowthatshewascomingtohim.

‘Ride with all speed,’ shetold hermessenger. ‘Tell theDuke of Normandy thatEleonore of Aquitaine sendsgreetings. Tell him she is onthe way to her own town of

Bordeaux, that she will lookforhim there,and that she iseagertowastenomoretime.’

Oh, the joy of riding in thefreshspringair!ItwasEastertime, themost beautiful timeoftheyear,andhowrichandfertile were the lands of theSouth!

As she rode south thecountry people came out togreet her. They cheered her.

Therehadbeenstoriesof theimmoral life she had ledwhilemarried to theKing ofFrance but to the people ofthe South these seemed likeromantic adventures. Seatedon her palfrey with her hairflowingandinhergownwiththelongsleeveswhichfelltothehemofherskirts,shewasa beautiful sight.A queen invery truth and she was backamongthem.Shehadbroughtcolour to her father’s court.

Songshadbeenwrittenabouther; she herself wrote songsandsangthem,andtheywereabout love and chivalry. Itwas small wonder in theireyes that she was notappreciated in the cold landof the North. Now she wascoming back and it was anoccasionforrejoicing.

One day when she wasriding through the domain oftheCountofBlois,apartyof

horsemen came ridingtowards them. As theyapproached, Eleonore sawthattheywereledbyayoungmanofpleasingappearance.

He pulled up before theQueen, doffing his hat andwaving it in a gesture ofgallantry as he bowed beforeher.

‘It is indeed the Queen ofQueens,’hesaid.

She inclined her head,pleasedtobesoaddressed.

‘Journeying from thecourtof France to Bordeaux,’ hewent on. ‘You will need torest for the night at someworthy castle. Yet knowingminetobeunworthyIofferitto you.Mycastle ofBlois isclose at hand. It is the finestshelteryoucouldfindintheseparts. I should be honouredindeedifyouwouldallowme

toentertainyouthere.’

‘We should be delighted,’repliedtheQueen;andadded,‘You areTheobald,Count ofChampagne.’

‘I am honoured that youshouldknowme.’

‘I knew your father well,’said Eleonore and thoughtgrimly: He had a greatinfluenceonourlives.Itwasour conflict with him over

Petronelle’smarriage that ledto the burning of Vitry andourcrusade.

That elder Theobald hadbeen dead for some twoyears. This was his son, andhewasclearlynotonlyyoungand good-looking butambitious.

As they rode side by sidetowardsthecastleofBloishewascongratulatinghimselfontheprospectofhavingsucha

notoriousladyunderhisroof.Shewasabeautytoo.

Eleonorewas aware of hisadmiration but it pleased heronly mildly. She longed foronemanandonemanonly -Henry,DukeofNormandy.

When they reached thecourtyard of his castleTheobald leaped from hishorse and commanded that agobletofwinebebrought.Hestood by her horse while the

goblet was brought; thensippeditandpassedittoher.

Their eyes met over thecup; his were bold, and hecould not hide from her thespeculativegleaminthem.

Foolish man! she thought.Did he think that she wasreadytoacceptanyman,andthattheonlyqualificationsheneeded to accept her favourswere those of his manhood?Did he think he could

compare with Raymond ofAntioch,Saladin,andchiefofall,HenryofNormandy?Shewould be delighted to teachhimalesson.

‘How honoured I am thatyou should come to mycastle,’ he said as he helpedher to alight. ‘I warn you Ishall do everything in mypowertomakeyourstayherealongone.’

‘My lord is gracious,’ she

said. ‘Butwearebutpassingon our way to my town ofBordeaux and I am in somehastetoreachit.’

‘Youwillat least restherethenight.’

‘Indeed I will and it isgood of you to play the hostsokindly.’

‘I would give all thekindness of which I amcapable to such a gracious

lady.’

He himself conducted hertoherbedchamber.

‘The finest in the castle,’he said. ‘It is my own.’ Shelookedstartledandheadded:‘I shall occupy one close bytomakesurethatyouarewellguardedthroughthenight.’

I must be careful of mylord of Champagne, thoughtEleonore. He is too

ambitious.

Itwaseasytoseewhatwasintheyoungbraggart’smind.He would indeed need to betaughtalesson.

She ordered that herbaggage be brought to thechamber and there herwomendressedherinagownof velvet with long hangingsleeves lined with miniver;she wore her beautiful hairlooseabouthershouldersand

thusshesatalmostinstateinthehallofthecastleofBlois.

Theobald had ordered thatthe choicest meats beprepared for the banquet; hehadinstructedhistroubadourstomakesongstocelebratetheQueen’s stay at his castle.Nothingthatcouldbedonetomake her stay memorablewasforgotten.

Shesat in thegreathallofthe castle, enthroned as a

queen, and beside her wasTheobald his eyes growingmoreandmorecaressing,andmore bold, as the nightworeon.

Shewasamusedandalittlecynical.

Canitbe thathewishes tomarryme? sheaskedherself.Shewas free now.Men, hadcourted her when she wasLouis’s wife because of herreputation. Now they would

court her because of herfortune.

She decided to amuseherselfalittlewithTheobald.

‘This,’ he told herpassionately, ‘is the finesthour my castle has everknown.’

‘Let us hope,’ sheanswered, ‘that it will knowmanymore.’

His eyes lit with pleasure.

Could she really mean thatshewouldstayhere?

He answered: ‘That couldonly be if you consented tostayhere.’

‘How could I do that, mylord, when I have my owncastlesbeyondBlois?’

”Tis true you have manyfine castles. Iwould like thiscastle of Blois to be one ofyours.’

‘You are over-generouswith your castles, my younglord. Is it because they havebeensuchashorttimeinyourpossession?Whatwouldyournoble father say if he lookeddownfromheavenandheardyougivingawaywhathehasleftyou.’

‘Hewouldbehappyindeedforhewouldknowwhatwentwiththecastle.’

‘Andwhatisthat?’

‘My heart, my hand, allthatIpossess.’

‘Is this a proposal ofmarriage?’

‘Itis.’

‘Ah, I doubt not you areoneofmany.Whenawomanis possessed of many richlandsitisamazinghowreadymen are to fall in love withher.’

‘You know you are the

most beautiful woman in theworld.Thefact thatyouownAquitaine is of noimportance.’

‘Icouldnevermarryamanwho was not sensible of thepower of lands and riches. Itseems he would be a poorhelpmeet to me in thegoverning of mypossessions.’

‘Nay, I am well aware ofthem.What I tell you is that

were you the humblestserving-maid I would bewilling to sacrifice all foryoursake.’

‘What you mean is youwouldbereadytotakemetoyourbed foranight,perhapstwo, if I proved worthy. Icouldnevermarryamanwhothought me such a fool thathemusttellmeblatantlies.’

‘Iseeyouaretoocleverforme.’

‘You realise that then. Aman should never marry awomanwho is too clever forhim.Itisnotthekeytohappymarriage.’

‘Oh, Eleonore, you areknownthroughoutthelandofFranceastheQueenofLove.Have done with banter. Iwould marry you. I beg ofyouconsidermyproposal.’

‘I do not need to considerit.Icouldnotmarryyou.You

mustlookelsewhereforyourwife.’

‘Ishallnotgiveuphope.’

‘It is alwayscomforting tohope,’shesaid.‘NowIwouldlisten to your excellentminstrels.’

She was amused by theyoungman. His wooingwasalmost abrupt. She had beenin his castle notmore than afew hours and he had asked

her to marry him. Nay, mylittle man, she thought, youmust do better than that. DoyouthinkyoucouldcomparewithmyHenry?

ShewouldtellHenryaboutthebrashyoung fellow.Howthey would laugh together.Perhaps she would make asong about it. Oh, she couldnotwaittobewithHenry!

She was thoughtful as herwomen undressed her,

combed her hair and helpedhertothebedwhichhadbeenmadereadyforher.

‘Four of you will sleep inthis room tonight,’ she said,‘and one ofmy esquireswillsleep across my door. It hasoccurred to me that we mayhaveavisitor.’

Her women laughed.‘Surely the Count would notbesobold.’

‘Iamhereinhiscastle.Hehas hinted and I have seensome purpose in his eyes. Ithink I should take theseprecautions.’

Howrightshewas.Assheexpected the young Countattempted to come to herbedchamber. Her trustedesquire who lay across herdoor sprang to his feet, hissword unsheathed. Whencommandedtostandasidehe

said that he acted on theorders of the Queen and anywho crossed the thresholdwould do so only over hisdeadbody.

‘A fuss about nothing,’grumbledtheCountandwentfumingbacktohisbed.

How Eleonore laughed inthe morning when she heardtheaccountofthis.

Shedecidedthatshewould

notspendanothernightinthecastle of Blois and secretlyordered that preparations bemadetoleave.

Theobald came to her. Hewas very suave. He beggedher to stay another night forhehadheardthattherewasaband of robbers in theneighbourhood, and by thenextdayhecouldgettogetheran escort to accompany herandherparty.

AtwingeofalarmcametoEleonore then. She knewwhatmeans ambitious youngmen adopted with heiresses.Hecouldmakeheraprisonerin his castle, force her tosubmit to his attentions andkeep her there until sheagreedtomarryhim.Shehadnodoubtthatplansalongthisline were formulating in theCount’smind.

She was not really afraid

and half amused.How daredhe!Hehadbeeninpossessionof his estates only two yearsand he was behaving like abrigand.

She would teach him alesson.

She pretended to believehim.

There was more feastingthat night, more songs weresung. She noticed how he

endeavouredtofillhergoblet.Did he think she was aninnocent? It was she whocontrived to make him drinkas much as to fuddle hismind.Sheknewthathespoketruth when he said he wassending for guards. Theywould not be to conduct heronherwaybuttoguardherinthecastle.

She had planned what shewould do. She had ordered

that every member of herparty be prepared to leavethat night in secret. As soonas the castle was quiet theywould creep down to thestables where everythingwould be in readiness. Theywould slip away and whenthe Count awoke in themorning he would find hisguestshadgone.

She was an intrigant bynature.

She amused herself bygiving a little encouragementto the Count, implying thatshe might consider him,providing he behaved in amannerwhichsheconsideredduetoherdignity.Shewouldbehurriedintonothingandanattempt to effect this wouldmeetwithherdisapproval.

Shemanaged to instil intohis somewhat fuddled mindthat he must give her time

and that she would be ratheramused by his methods tocoerceher.

Thus he decided to leaveherinpeaceforthatnightandher plans were successful.Very quietly she and herparty left Blois, and in themorning when the ambitiousyoung Count awoke hecursed himself and all whoserved him because they hadallowed this prize to slip

betweenhisfingers.

How she laughed as shelookedbackat the fardistantcastle of Blois in the earlymorning light. If he sent thefleetest riders after her hewouldnevercatchhernow.

‘WewillmakeforAnjou,’she said. ‘There we shall besafe for that is the Count ofAnjou’s land, and the Countof Anjou is the Duke of

Normandy andwere I to fallinto his hands it would bewith the greatest of pleasureforhe is theman I amgoingtomarry.’

So they made for Anjouandastheycrossedintoitshewasexultant.

Her complacency wasshort-lived. As they crossedthemeadowstheysawariderin the distance, a youngmanwho begged to speak to the

Queen.

Hetoldherhehadbeeninthe employ of HenryPlantagenet, now Duke ofNormandy, and had beenpassed into the service ofHenry’s young brother,GeoffreyPlantagenet.

‘My lady,’ he said, ‘I stillserve theDukeofNormandyandsoIcometotellyouthatfour miles ahead lies anambush. Geoffrey

Plantagenet plans to abductyou,totakeyoutohiscastle,and to keep you there untilyou promise to marry him.He hates his brother becausehe has inherited much whilehe has but three castles inAnjou.’

Eleonorelaughedaloud.

‘Takethisyoungman,’shesaid,‘givehimfoodandfromhenceforthheshallserveme.I promise you, my good

fellow,thaterelongyoushallfindyourselfintheserviceofthe Duke of Normandy foranywhoservesmewillservehim also. We will nowchangecourse.Wewill leaveAnjou and go south toAquitaine. We will ride toPoitiers and I promise you itwill not be long before wehavereachedmycity.’

Warily they rode. Therehad been two indications of

what ambitious men wouldattempttowinthehandofanheiress.

‘None shall take by forcewhat is mine to give,’ saidEleonore.

They came to her city ofPoitiers and she took up herlodging in the chateau; thereshe sent a messenger toHenry to tell him that shewould await him there andwhenhecametheywouldbe

marriedwithoutdelay.

Howlongthewaitingseemedand yet she knew he camewith all speed! It wasnecessary for them to marryquickly and that no hint ofwho her bridegroom was tobe should reachLouis’sears.AsDuchessofAquitaine shewashisvassalandhehadtheright to forbidher tomarryaman of whom he did not

approve, and itwould not beonly Louis who disapprovedof a match betweenNormandyandAquitaine.

At length he came. Shewas in the courtyard waitingto greet him.With great joythey embraced and eagerlydiscussed the arrangementsfor the wedding which musttake place without delay.They would not wait for theceremonyofcourse,although

each realised the importanceof it. They had been loversbeforeandwereimpatientforeachother.

The wedding was to takeplace onWhit Sunday and itwouldnotbecelebratedwiththe pomp which hadaccompaniedthatofEleonoreto the King of France for itwas most important for it totake place before anyonecouldstopit.

HoweverspieshadalreadyconveyedtoLouisthatHenryof Normandy had joinedEleonore in Poitiers and thatarrangements were going ontocelebratetheirmarriage.

Louis was furious. Notonly was he jealous ofEleonore’s obsession withyoungHenry,butifAquitaineand Normandy were joinedbythemarriageofthesetwo,then Henry of Normandy

would be the most powerfulmaninthecountry.

He demanded that hisvassal, Henry of Normandy,cometoParisimmediately.

That was a summonswhich Henry could onlyignore.InsteadofobeyingtheKinghewenttothecathedralwith Eleonore and there, onthat warm Whit Sunday,Eleonore of AquitainebecamethebrideofHenryof

Normandy.

ChapterV

QUEENOFENGLAND

Rarely hadLouis’s passionsbeen so strongly aroused aswhen he heard of themarriage of Eleonore andHenry. In the first place he

could not endure to think ofher with that young virileman. Henry of Normandywas uncouth; he might belearned, but hewas rough inmanners and Eleonore hadalways been so fastidious.What was the attraction? Heknew. It was thatoverwhelming sensuality inherwhichhadbothfascinatedandyetappalledhim.

There was more to it than

mere jealousy.Therewas thepoliticalimplication.

Henry of Normandy hadnow become the mostpowerful man in France.Apart from Normandy hewould now be in control ofAquitaine,MaineandAnjou;which meant that hepossessed more land thananyone in France, notexcludingtheKing.

Louis’s ministers deplored

the divorce and itsconsequences. They impliedthattheyhadtoldhimsoandhe should never have agreedtoletEleonorego.Onlyafewweeks after the separationandshehadchangedthefaceofFrance,geographicallyandpolitically!Henryhadatouchof his great-grandfather inhimwhichwasrecognisedbymany.Hewasundoubtedlyachip off the old conqueringblock. It was as though

William the Conqueror wasreborn.

If he got control ofEngland, which seemedlikely, andwas in possessionof so large a slice of France,what power would be his?And there could be no doubtthat he would know how toexploitit.

Louis discussed thematteratlengthwithhiscounsellors.Men such as Henry of

Normandy had manyenemies. There was hisbrother for one. Geoffrey ofAnjou was incensed becausehis father had left him onlythree castles. Itwas true thatthere had been a proviso inhis father’s will that if andwhenHenry becameKing ofEngland, Anjou was to bepassed over to Geoffrey, butknowing Henry, Geoffreyrather doubted this wouldcome to pass. Henry had

always been too fond of hispossessions to give anythingup. If Geoffrey was evergoing to gain possession ofAnjou he felt he must do itnow before Henry had themightofEnglandbehindhimtohelphimholdit.

There was one other whofeared Henry and that wasEustace, the son of Stephen.Because his father was theKing,Eustacerathernaturally

believed that on his death heshould take the crown.Matilda had found itimpossible to wrest thatdesirableobjectfromStephenso why should her sonbecome King on Stephen’sdeath? That Matilda had thefirst right to the thronemattered not to Eustace. Hewasdeterminedtofightforit.

As Louis’s ministerspointed out, here were two

stalwart allies, both withgrievancesagainstHenryandmuchtogain.

Let there be an alliancebetween them and surely ifthey stood together againstHenrytheywouldhaveafairchanceofvictory.

Louiscalledameetingandplans were discussed. BothEustace and Geoffrey wereexultant at the thought ofhaving their revenge on

Henry. They hated himfiercely for Henry, with hiscareless ways, his rathercrudemannersandhis innateknowledge thathewasgoingtomakeamarkontheworld,arousedtheirbitterenvy.

In the family circleGeoffrey had always beenobliged to take second placeto his elder brother. It hadbeenclearthatHenrywashisfather’s favourite, and his

mother, whose tongue andtempers they all tried toescape, had a devotion forHenrywhichseemedalien toher fierce headstrongegotistical nature. It seemedasthoughshehadtransferredallherhopesandambitions-and they had beenmonumental - to her eldestson. Geoffrey had alwayslived inHenry’s shadow andhehatedhimforit.

Eustace hated Henry ofNormandy with an equalfervour. If Geoffrey was aweak man, Eustace was not.He had fierce passions; helongedforpowerandoftenhedespised his father for hisweakness. Eustace was suchthathewouldhavestoppedatnothing to reachhisgoal.Hewasviolentandhisdesireforpowerwasmuchgreaterthanany qualities he possessed toattainandholdit.

Thesewere thechiefallieswhomLouisdrewtohim.Asa further gesture he offeredhis sister Constance toEustaceasabride.

‘It is fitting,’ said Louis,‘that thesisterof theKingofFrance should in time be theQueenofEngland.’

The strongest bonds toholdtogetheranalliancewerethose of marriage and Louiscouldnothavetoldtheworld

more clearly that he wassupportingEustace’sclaimtothethroneofEngland.

‘Thereisoneothermatter,’his ministers reminded him,‘you are now free to marryandyoushoulddosowithoutdelay. You must marry andproduce a son. It iswhat thepeoplearewaitingfor.’

Somewhat reluctantly, butunderstanding the need forhim to take this step, Louis

wasmarriedtoConstance,thedaughter of Alfonso ofCastile.

Both Henry and Eleonorebelieved theirmarriage to bean ideal one. Theywere twoof a kind. Sensual in theextreme they had knownthemselves to be; that waswhathadfirstattractedthem;but therewasmorethanthat.She delighted in his vigour

and ambition. He wascharmed by her ability tofollow his quick mind as heexplainedhisschemestoher.

WhenhetalkedofgoingtoEngland,much as shewouldhate to lose him she wouldputnoobstacle in thewayofhis going. Indeed, she waseagerforhimtogo.ItwashisdestinytobecometheKingofEngland.

What a woman she was!

She could be beautiful andmore seductive than anywomanhehadknown;yethermind was alert; she hadgrown in political staturebecause of her need to keeppace with him. The fact thatshe was some twelve yearsolder than he was meantnothing to them as yet. Herbody was perfect and hermindwasmature.

Theirs, as they had known

it would be, was the perfectunion.

Therefore when he talkedto her of his plans for goingto England, for making anunderstanding with Stephen,fightinghim for the crown ifneed be, she was with him.The parting would beagonising for her but sheknewhemustgo.Theyweredestined to be King andQueenofEngland,andifthey

must suffer to gain the prizethensobeit.

She was as completelyconfident of his final victoryashewashimself.

How pleasant to lietogether in their bed whichhad lost none of its charmnow that it was no longerillicit and when they weretemporarily satiated with theforce of their passion to talkofthefuture.

‘Stephenisastrangeman,’mused Henry. ‘It is difficultforme to think of him as anenemy. My mother declaredthat she hated him and yetsometimes a strange lookcomesintohereyeswhenshespeaksofhim.’

‘It is natural that sheshould hate the usurper whotookherthrone.’

‘It seems he is aman it isdifficult to hate. He has

shown a kindliness to mewhich is strange. When Iwent to Scotland in order tomarch against him and wasdeceived as to the support Icould count on, he gave memoney and the means toreturntoNormandy.Whatdoyouthinkofsuchaman?’

‘That he is a fool,’ saidEleonore.

‘Yes, in a measure. But Iam not sure. I cannot find it

easy to think of him as myenemy.’

‘Ohcome,mylove,hehastaken your mother’s crown.He would set up his sonEustace in your place. Restassuredheisyourenemy.’

‘Aye, so it would seem.Menandwomenhavestrangepassions, Eleonore. I wouldlike to know more ofStephen’s.’

‘Do not concern yourselfwithhisnaturebuthiscrown.Thecrownthatisyours.’

”Tis true, and ere long Imust go to England to claimit.’

And so they made plansduring those idyllic weeks,but they knew that thehoneymoon must soon beover and the arduous task ofgainingacrownmustbegin.

They travelled to Falaisewhere Eleonore met theredoubtable Matilda -Countess of Anjou, daughterof Henry I of England whowas still known as theEmpress because of her firstmarriage to the Emperor ofGermany.

The twowomen tookeachother’smeasure.

Matilda was naturallydelighted with Henry’s

marriage to the greatestheiress in Europe. Moreovershe recognised a strongwoman.

She decided that sheapprovedofthematch.

Eleonore, knowingsomething of the history ofher mother-in-law, could nothelp thinking that she hadmismanaged her life. Thereshe was, still handsome, awoman who had found it

difficult to control herpassion. She had passed onhertempertoherson,Henry.BecauseoftheamitybetweenthemEleonorehadsofarseenlittle of that temper; she hadheard rumours though that itwasformidable.

It should never be arousedagainst her, she assuredherself.Andifitwere?Well,wasEleonoreofAquitaineofthenaturetobealarmedbya

man’stantrums?

Often she wondered whyMatilda had been content togive up the fight for hercrown. She had fought for itandhadcomeneartogainingit, but her unfortunate naturehadbeenherdownfallandindue course although thepeopleofEnglandrecognisedherpriorclaimtheypreferredthe mild and charmingStephen to the virago

Matilda.

AndsoStephen reigned inEngland and Henry mustcross the seas and challengehisrighttothecrown.

Matilda talked with them.She wished that she wasyounger so that she couldaccompany her son toEngland. Now and then shementioned the past. TheEnglishwere apeople itwasnot easy to understand. They

had acclaimed her inCanterbury and had beenreadytodosoinLondon,butsuddenly they had turnedagainst her and just as sheandhercompanyweregoingintothehall todine, themobhad stormed the palace andshehadbeenforcedtoflee.

Henry knew what hadhappened. He told Eleonorewhen they were alone.Matilda had offended the

English so much that theywouldneveraccepther.

‘Make sure,’ Matildaconfided in Eleonore, ‘thatHenry never offends theEnglish-atleastnotuntilthecrownissafeonhishead.’

Eleonore certainly would,although she believed thatHenrywouldbewiser in thatrespect than his mother hadbeen.

HewaseagernowtoleaveforEngland,hewantedtogetthatmattersettled.Ifhecouldbring Stephen to such a passthathe sworehisheir shouldbe Henry Plantagenet, hewould be content. He wasgoingtotry.

Both Matilda, his mother,and Eleonore, his wife,agreedthatheshouldlosenotimeandhepreparedtoleaveforEngland.

Before he was ready therewas news for him. Forceswere mustering against him.Eustace was determined totakeNormandy, andHenry’sownbrotherwantedAnjou.

Henry cursed them loudly,and thenhewasglad that hehad knowledge of hisbrother’s treachery andEustace’s designs before hehadleftforEngland.

Naturally he could not

leave for England. He mustremainwherehewasanddealwith Eustace and Geoffreywho came against him withthe help and blessing ofEleonore’sone-timehusband,theKingofFrance.

Henry never showed hisgeniusforgeneralshipsowellas when he was faced withseemingly overwhelmingdifficulties. He immediately

abandoned his plans to goafter the English crown inorder to consolidate hisposition in Normandy.Becausehewasthepossessorofmuch land he had a greatdeal to protect and hold, buthewas full of vigour and bynomeansdisturbed topithisskill against that of theQueen’sprevioushusband.

‘Let Louis come againstme,’ he declared. ‘I’ll show

himandyouwhoisthebetterman.’

‘Iatleastdonotneedtobeshown,’ answered Eleonore.‘Youwillfightandwin.Iwasnevermore sureof it.As forthat blustering Eustace, youwill soon let himknowwhatitmeans to come against thetrue heir to England. Andyour brother Geoffrey is afool. Look how he tried totrickmeandfailed.’

The Empress Matilda alsodeclaredher faith inhim.Heneed have no fear.With twodetermined women to lookafter his interests he wouldsucceed.

They were right, andalthoughseveralmonthswerespent in fighting off theseenemies, Henry defeated hisfoolishbrotherGeoffrey, andEustace returned from thefight dispirited while Louis

madeoverturesforpeace.

Yetvictoriousashewashedid not wish to waste time.The lust forconquestwasonhim. He knew that now wasthetimetostrikeforEngland.

Like the good general hewas he set about reviewinghisresources.

He could safely leave hiswifeandmothertoruleinhisstead. They were both

experienced women. Howglad he was that he had notmarriedasillysimperinggirl.How foolishwere thosewhoshook their heads over amarriage in which the wifewastwelveyearstheseniorofher husband. Eleonore hadlivedlongerthanhehad,andduring those years hadgleanedmuchwisdom.Itwasa great comfort to know thatthe interests of this amazingwomanwerehis.

His mother’s temper hadnot improved with the yearsand she would never beloved,butEleonoremanagedto win people to her, proudand often overbearing as shewas. None but these twocould better look after hisaffairsinhisabsence,foronething they both had incommon was their devotiontohim.

Hecould turnhis thoughts

toEngland andStephen, thatstrange man who was sogentle and yet such a greatfighter. He had neverunderstood Stephen. Therehad been long years of civilwar in England - withStephen on one side andMatilda, Henry’s mother, onthe other, and yet when hismother spoke of Stephen astrangely soft look wouldcomeintohereyes;andevenwhenhehadgonetoEngland

tomakeanattempttotakethecrownStephenhadbeenkindtohim.

There was some mysteryabout Stephen and hismother.Sobeit.Stephenheldthecrownandwhenhedied-if not before - that crownmustpasstoHenry.

IfStephenhadnothadsonstheremighthavebeennowartofight,foritwouldbebetterto wait and take the crown

peacefullyonStephen’sdeaththan to fight for it now. Butthere was ambitious Eustacewho had dared to try to takeNormandy, and another sonWilliam who did not by allaccountsseemtobemuchofafighter.

He must therefore go toEnglandwithoutdelay,andassoon as he had gatheredtogether a fleet to carry himthere and themen-at-arms to

fight for him he would setout.

To his great joy while hewas making his preparationshe received a message fromRobertofBeaumont,theEarlofLeicester,totheeffectthatif he came to England he,Leicester, would be ready tosupporthim.

This was a triumph, forRobert’s father had servedWilliam the Conqueror well

andprosperedunderhim,andhisson,HenryI,hadallowedRobert to be among thosefavoured young men whowerebroughtup at his court,and in due course he hadmarrieda richwife.TheEarlwas a cautious man; he didnotwishtoloseanythingthathe had gained but he sawclearly that there could bevery little prosperity undertheruleofEustace ifheevercame to the throne. He had

been saddened to see thecountry torn by civil warwhile Matilda and Stephenbattled for the crown andalthough he believed thatStephenwasthebetterchoicehewaslookingforwardtothetimewhenEnglandwasoncemore ruled by a strong kingsuchasHenryIandhisfatherhad been. He had knownRobert of Gloucester, HenryI’s illegitimate son, who hadsupported Matilda and

through him had learned ofthe good qualities of youngHenry of Normandy.Leicester believed that thebest hope of prosperity forEngland on Stephen’s deathwouldbetheaccessiontothecrown of Henry Plantagenet.Heknewthat thiswasa timewhen he could no longerremainneutral.Stephenwasasick man; he had neverrecovered from the death ofhis wife, the gentle Matilda,

who had stood firmly besidehim through his manyvicissitudes and had been afar greater prop to him thanevenherealised.Stephenhadalways been subject tomysteriousillnesses;hewasalovablemanbut aweakone;he liked tobeongood termswith everyone, and that wasnoway for aking tobe.No,in Robert of Leicester’sopinion England’s hopes layinHenryPlantagenet, andhe

wrote to the young mantelling him that he waspreparedtoputhiswealthandhis experience behind hiscause.

‘There is not a morepowerful man in England,’cried Henry, his eyesgleaming. ‘Victory isassured.’

Buthewastooclevertoletthat change his preparationswhich were going to be as

thorough as though he werefacing the most formidablearmyintheworld.

ItwasaJanuarydaywhenhesailedforEnglandwithhisfleet of thirty-six ships andlanded at Bristol. There hefound men of the WestCountry ready to rally to hiscause.

Sadly Eleonore missed him.He had absorbed her life to

suchanextent thatsheaskedfornoother lover.She threwherself into the task oflooking after his affairs andher friendship with hermother-in-law the Empressripened. The two womenadmired each other andalthough their strongtemperaments often clashed,forneitherwouldgivewayinthe slightest degree in heropinions to please the other,theyneverforgotthatdiscord

between them would bedetrimental toHenry,andforboth of them he was thecentreoftheirlives.

Eleonore had her littlecourt about her.Gallantmensanghersongsandcomposedversesof theirown.Manyofthem were addressed to her,andbecauseofherreputation,which would always be withher, many of them werehopeful. But Eleonore was

devotedtoherDuke.Theyallknew that, but could such awoman be expected to keepher sensuality smouldering,not allowing it to burst intofire before the return of herlord which might be whoknewwhen?

But Eleonore was soenamoured of her husbandthat none of those about herpleasedher.Moreoverhehadnotbeengoneformorethana

month when she knew forcertain that shewaspregnantand she began to thinkexclusivelyofthechild.

Matilda was delighted.‘You’ll have sons,’ shedeclared. ‘You are like me.All my children were sonsandtherewerethreeofthem.Imighthavehadtwentysonsif I’d had a fancy for myhusband, but I never did,though many women found

himattractive…’

She looked obliquely atEleonore who noddedgravely, remembering thecharmofhimwhohadearnedfor himself the name ofGeoffreytheFair.

‘Yes,’wentonMatilda,‘hehadmanyamistress.Itneverbothered me. He was myhusband when he was butfifteen. I thought him afoolish boy and I never took

to him. I bore a grudgeagainst him because they’dgiven him to me. First theygavemeanoldmanandthena young boy. It wasn’t fair.You know they might havemarriedmetoStephen.’

‘English history wouldhave been different if theyhad.’

‘All those wretched civilwarswouldneverhave takenplace.’ Matilda’s eyes grew

dreamy. ‘Yes, if my fatherhad known his onlylegitimate son was going tobe drowned at sea, hewouldhavemarriedme to Stephen.I’mcertainofit.Iwouldhavebeen better for him than thatmeek wife of his and hewould have been better forme. He was one of thehandsomest men you eversaw. I think thebiggestblowinmy lifewaswhen I heardthat he had taken the crown.

I’dalwaysbelievedhewouldstand by me. Crowns, mydaughter, what blood hasbeen shed because of them -andmorewillmost certainlybe!’

‘Not Henry’s,’ saidEleonorefirmly.

‘Nay, not Henry’s. Butwhat if it should beStephen’s?’

Shewassilent forawhile.

Then she went on: ‘Stephenmustknowthatthatwildboyof his cannot inherit thecrown. The people wouldnever accept Eustace. Andthen he has William. Thatwoman’s children. It alwaysinfuriatedmethatshehadthesame name as mine. If onlyStephencouldbemadetoseereason.’

‘Wouldhecall it reasontogiveupthecrowntoHenry?’

‘Hecannotlivelong.Whatif therewas a truce?What ifthey made an agreement?Stephen to ruleas longashelivesandthenHenrytobetheKingofEngland.’

‘Would a man pass overhisown son for another?’ ‘Ifitwerejusticeperhaps.

If it would stop war. If itwouldgiveEnglandwhatshealwaysneeds,whatshehadinthe timesofmyfatherHenry

IandmygrandfatherWilliamtheConqueror.Thoseare thestrong men England needsandmyson,yourhusband,isoneofthem.’

‘Stephen would neveragree,’ said Eleonore. ‘Icannot believe any manwould pass over his ownson.’

Matildanarrowedhereyes.

‘You do not know

Stephen,’ she said. ‘There ismuch that is not known ofStephen.’

News came of Henry’sprogress. It was good news.AlloverEnglandpeoplewererallying to his banner.Eustace had made himselfunpopular and people wereweary of continual civilwar.They recalled the good olddays under King Henry,

whosesternlawshadbroughtorder and prosperity to theland.He had not been calledthe Lion of Justice fornothing. There wassomething about youngHenry Plantagenet thatinspired their confidence.Hewasofthesamecalibreashisgrandfather and great-grandfather.

There was no doubt inEleonore’s mind that he

would succeed. The questionwas when, and how longwould it bebefore theywereunited?

She had left Matilda andtravelled to Rouen as shewishedthebirthtotakeplacein that city and there shepreparedforherconfinement.

She was exultant on thathot August day to learn thatshe had borne a son. Howdelighted Henry would be.

She immediately despatchedmessengerstohim.Thenewswouldcheerhimwhereverhewas.

She decided that his nameshould be William. He wasafter all the son of theDuchess of Aquitaine andWilliam was the name somany of the Dukes of thatcountryhadborne.MoreoverHenry’s renowed great-grandfather, the mighty

Conqueror, had been socalled.

Asshelaywithherchildinher arms her womenmarvelled at the manner inwhichchildbirthhadsoftenedher. They had not seen herwithher daughters.Nowandthen she thought of them -little Marie and Alix - andwondered whether they evermissed theirmother.Shehadlovedthemdearlyforawhile

after their birth. There hadbeen occasions when shewould have liked to devoteherself to them. She thoughtof the infants in her arms,tightly bound in theirswaddling clothes that theirlimbs might grow straight.The poor little things hadoffended her fastidiousness.Bound thus how could it beotherwise for they were notallowed toemergefromtheircocoons for days on end,

disregarding the fact that thepoor little things mustperform their naturalfunctions.

It should be different withher son. She would watchover him, assure herself thathislimbswouldgrowstraightwithout the swaddlingclothes.

She loved him dearly - alivingreminderofherpassionforHenry-andsheknewthat

thebestnewsshecould sendhim was the birth of a boy.Perhaps she should havecalled him Henry. Nay, shewas implying that she hadbrought him Aquitaine anduntil he could offer her thecrown of England she wasbringingmoretothemarriagethan he was. It was well toremind him that they stoodequal.

‘The next son must be

Henry,’ she wrote to him.‘But our firstborn is namedafter my father andgrandfather and the mostillustrious member of yourfamily, your great-grandfather whom it is saidfewmenrivalledinhisdayoreverwillafter.’

Whileshewaslying-inthemost amazing news wasbroughttoher.Shewishedtorisefromherbedandmakea

great feast not only of roastmeatsbutofsongandstorytocelebrate the event, fornothing could have moreclearly showed thatGodwason the side of the Duke ofNormandy.

Stephen and Henry hadfaced each other atWallingford and were aboutto do battle when Stephendecided that instead offightinghewouldliketotalk

toHenry.Ithadbeendifficultto persuadeHenry to do thisfor he was certain of victoryand believed that the battlemight well decide the issue.However, he finally agreedand as the result of theirmeeting, to the astonishmentof all, the battle did not takeplace.

Eustace, who was burningwith the desire to cut off theheadofthemanhecalledthe

upstart Henry and send it tohiswife,wassoangryatwhathethoughtwasthecowardiceofhisfatherthathegavewaytoviolentrage.Hehadneverbeenverystablebutevenhismost intimate followers hadnever seen his control deserthimtosuchanextent.

Hewould raisemoney, hedeclared, and he would fightthe battles which his fatherwas afraid to face. Did

StephennotunderstandthatitwashisheritagewhichHenrywas trying to takefromhim?He, Eustace, was the heir tothe throneofEnglandandhewas not going to allow hisfather’sweaknesstobestowitonHenry.

In vain did his friends tryto restrain him; he remindedthem that he was thecommanderofhisarmiesandmarchedtoBuryStEdmunds,

whereherestedattheAbbey,and when he had refreshedhimselfhedemandedthattheAbbot supply him withmoney that hemight go intobattle without his father’shelp against Henry ofNormandy. The Abbotdeclared that he had nothingto give him whereuponEustace demanded to knowwhy the treasures of theAbbey should not be sold toprovide him with what he

needed.

The Abbot took theopportunity, while hepretended to consider, oflocking away the treasure.Thenherefused.

Calling curses on theAbbot and his Abbey,Eustace rode away, but notfar. He ordered his men totake what they wanted fromthe countryside and everygranarywasplundered,every

dwellingrobbed,butthemainobjectofhispillagewastobethe Abbey. His soldiersreturned to it and forced themonkstotell themwherethetreasure was hidden. Whentheyhadplunderedtheplace,Eustace led themback to thenearestcastletomakemerry.

Hesatattabletoeatoftheroasting meats which hisservants had prepared, hisangerstillwithinhim.Hewas

going tomakewaronHenryofNormandy,hedeclared;hewas going to drive him fromthe shores of England andvery soon they would seehim,Eustace;crownedking.

Ashe stoodup todrink tothatday,hefelltothefloorinagony. He writhed for amoment and then was still,andwhentheybentoverhimtheysawthathewasdead.

Thiswasthenewsthatwas

broughttoEleonorewhileshelayawaitingthereturnofherstrength.

She wanted to shout intriumph: This is a gloriousday. Eustace is dead. Howcan Stephen make his sonWilliamhisheir?Williamhasalready declared he has notalent for ruling and nowishtoeither.

It must be Henry now.God, by striking down

Eustace, has shown Englandwhoisworthytobeherking.

Henry was sure of hisdestiny. The news thatEleonorehadbornehimasonfollowing so soon on that ofEustace’sdeathseemedtobeanomen.Hewasofanaturetoregardanythingthatwastohis benefit as an omenwhilehe disregarded any sign thatcould be to his detriment. In

this he resembled his great-grandfather William theConqueror. In his heart heknew it was one of thequalitiesneededtosucceed.

But the death of Eustacedid seem like an act ofGod.The people of Suffolk whohad suffered from his ill-temperdeclaredthatGodhadstruckhimdowninangerandif they had had any doubtsbeforethatHenryPlantagenet

should be the next king theynolongerhad.

Victorywasinsight.

Hewaslongingforthedaywhen he could return toEleonore.Hemissed her.Noother woman would do forhim, he had discovered. Notthat he had been faithful toher. That was too much toexpect. He was too lusty amanforthat.Eleonorewouldunderstand. While he was

withherhewouldbefaithful;but during long campaignsawayfromhershemustallowhimalittlelicence.Hefelltomusing about women. Thebest since he had arrived inEngland had been a womanof some experience, sincemaking love was her living.Her name he believed wasHikenai. She was amusing;there was very little she hadnot experienced. He laughedto recall her. She had

followed the camp and hadmade herself exclusively hisfor that time. Strangelyenough he had beencontentedwithherasshehadbeenwithhim.Hewasamanwhoneededwomen,butifhehad a good one he did notwish tobepromiscuous.Onesatisfied him providing shewas always there when heneededher.

He had watched Hikenai’s

figurethickenandnoticedtheobvious signs of pregnancy.Shehadbeenpleased.

‘This one,’ she had said,‘willbeaking’sson.’

‘You go too fast,’ he toldher.

‘Come, my lord Duke,you’ll be a king before thislittle one has known twosummers.’

‘It’s a good and loyal

statement,’ he told her, andexpressed the hope that itwouldbeaboy.

While he had been inEngland he had seen hisother,twoboys.

‘ByGod,’ he had cried, ‘Iamabegetterofboys.’

He had wondered whethertheir mother would stillappeal to him. He had beendevoted to Avice some few

years beforewhen hewas inEngland, and the two boysshe had borne himwere finelittlefellows.Herememberedhersayingshewouldcallherfirstborn Geoffrey after theirgrandfather, and Williamaftertheirillustriousancestor,he who was known as theConqueror.Yes,hehadbeendeeply enamoured of Avice.Howold could he have beenwhenGeoffreywasborn?Hewas only twenty now.

Fifteen! Oh, he had been alustyyoungfelloweventhen.

Avice was living atStamford. It had delightedhimtoseetheboysagain.Hehad spent anightwithAvicebut the attraction was gone.After Eleonore perhaps, onlysuch a practised harlot asHikenaicouldsatisfyhim.

So he had taken his quickfarewell of Avice andpromised her that when he

waskinghewouldnotforgetherboys.

And now Stephen and hehad called a truce.HewouldneverunderstandStephen.HelikedhiskinsmanbutStephenwas not of the stuff kingswere made. There wassomething kind, sentimental,too emotional about him.Hereminded him of Louis ofFrance who had never beenable to get out of his mind

that his soldiers had pillagedatowninthechurchofwhichmen,womenandchildrenhadbeenburnedtodeath.

Cruelty was not a kingly,qualitybutperforceitmustbecommittednowandthen,andwhen this happened it wasbest done quickly andforgotten.

When he was King ofEnglandhewould follow thelines laid down first by

William the Conqueror andthenbyhisgrandfatherHenryI for theywere ruthlessmen,butnevercruelforthesakeofcruelty. Justice came firstwith them.Thatwas thewaytorule.

Andnowwhatnext?WhatwasStephenimplying?

There came amessage fora meeting atWinchester. Hewould listen eagerly toStephen’sproposal.

It was clear what Stephen’sintentions were. He was notsomuchanoldmanasasickandtiredone.Hehadlosthiswife and his elder son. Hewas in no mood to continuethefight.

If he were allowed to ruleinpeacefortherestofhislifehewouldnamehis successorHenry, Duke of Normandy,whounlikehimselfwasinthe

direct line of succession. Hewas sure that the peoplewould acceptHenry.Hewasthe son of the daughter ofHenry I, himself son of thegreat Conqueror, whereasStephen was the son of theConqueror’s daughter Adela.There could be no one toraise a voice againstHenry’sclaim.

Henrywaswise.HelookedintentlyatStephen.Howlong

couldhelive?Oneyear.Twoyears.Threeatmost.

Let the war be called off.Hewascontent.Hewouldgoback to Normandy but hewould first have the King’sassurancethatitwashiswishthat he should follow him tothethrone.

It should be done so thattherewasnodoubtthatitwasStephen’s wish, and the twotravelled to London where a

conclave of archbishops,bishops, abbots, earls,justiciars, sheriffs andbaronsshouldbecalled.

And to these people thedeclaration should be madeand set out in a treaty afterthe signing of which, fealtyshouldbesworntoHenry.

A triumph. He hadachieved what he had comefor and without muchbloodshed.Thiswas thekind

of victory all wise rulershopedfor.

Before the gatheringStephenmadehisdeclaration:

‘I, the King of England,Stephen, have made Henry,Duke of Normandy, thesuccessor to the kingdom ofEngland after me, and myheir by hereditary right andthus I have given andconfirmed to him and hisheirs the kingdom of

England. The Duke, becauseof this honour and grant andconfirmationmade tohimbyme, has done homage to meand sworn by oath that hewillbefaithfultome…’

Indeed he would, for hewaswiseenoughtoknowthatifhewaiteduntilthedeathofStephen, which could not belong, all men would honourhim.

Thisdeclarationwasofthe

greatest value. How muchmore important it was forStephentohavemadehimhisheirthanforhimtohavewonthe crown in battle. Now allmenmustaccepthim.

HewantednowtogetbacktoEleonore.Hewantedtotellherindetailofhistriumph.

First thoughhemustgo toOxfordtoreceivethehomageofthemenwhowouldbehissubjects.

Beforeheleftforthattownhe heard that Hikenai hadbeen brought to bed, andwenttoseeher.

Shesmiledathimfromherbedandheldupherchild.

‘Our son, my lord,’ shesaid.

‘Another boy! So I amfatherofanotherboy.’

‘I shall call him Geoffreyafter your father,’ she told

him, ‘so that you will neverforget thathe isamemberofthefamily.’

‘I am going to beKing ofEngland, Hikenai,’ he said.‘Andthatdaysoon.IsweartoyouthatwhenIamIshallnotforgetoursonGeoffrey.’

‘I’ll keep you to thatpromise, my lord,’ sheanswered.

ThenhewentontoOxford

to receive the homage ofthose who would in time behissubjects.

Nowhewastornbetweenthedesire to go back toNormandy to be withEleonore and see their babyson, and to stay in Englandand consolidate his position.The important men ofEngland had sworn fealty tohim, Stephen had given him

his word that he shouldfollow him to the throne,even so, a man should beclose at hand to watch hisinterests.

He could not make up hismind but it was not longbefore it was made up forhim. His enemies inNormandywereattemptingtotake advantage of hisabsence.Hismotherwrote tohim that she thought it wise

forhimtoreturn.ItwasAprilwhen he arrived inNormandy. What joy therewas in his reunion withEleonore. This was a littletemperedbyacertainanxietywhichthebabywasarousing.He was not as lusty as theyhad at first hoped he wouldbe.

TherewasplentytooccupyhimwhileEleonorecaredforthe little boy and it was not

longbeforehehadsettledtheuprisings.He tooka troopofsoldiers around his entiredominions and made it clearthat he expected and wouldhaveobedience.

Matilda wanted to knowwhathadhappenedduringtheparleywith Stephen, and shelistenedintentlywhilehetoldherhowfriendlyStephenhadbeen to him and so anxiousfor peacewashe that hehad

been ready to pass over hissonWilliamforthesakeofit.

Matilda nodded. ‘He is anoldman,Ibelieve,now.’

‘He carries himself welland has a pleasantcountenance,’ answeredHenry.

‘He always had,’ saidMatilda. ‘He knew how tocharmpeople.Iusedtomockhim for it. When he was

younghewouldgooutofhisway to please people whocouldneverbringanygoodtohim. I used to say he waspractising so that it wouldseem natural to those whocouldbringhimgood.’

‘One could not help butlikehim,’saidHenry,‘andhewasveryeagertobepleasanttome.’

Matilda nodded, and wasquite lost inmemoriesof the

days when she and Stephenhad been more than merecousins.

Theytalkedofthetroublesinthecountry.

‘There is Geoffrey,’ saidMatilda. ‘He will not becontent.’

‘Iknowit,Mother.’

‘Hewasfuriouswhenyourfather left almost everythingto you and nothing but three

castles to him. True, yourfather’s wish was that whenyou gained England youshouldgiveAnjouandMainetohim.’

‘I doubt he would beworthyofthem,’saidHenry.

Matildalaughed.‘Youlikenot to part with any of yourpossessions.Youare likemyfather. They say mygrandfather was the same.You remind me of them,

Henry.’

‘There are no two rulerswhom it would pleaseme toresemblemore.’

With Eleonore there hadbeenareturntotheirpassion.She had missed him sorelyshe told him. ‘I devotedmyself to our child andawaitedyourreturn.’

‘I longed for you as youlonged for me,’ answered

Henry,andthoughtbrieflyofAvice of whom he had tiredand of Hikenai who hadamusedhim.WhentheywenttoEnglandhewouldhave tobring her boy to court. Hewondered what Eleonorewouldsaytothat.Wouldshecalculate thedateofhisbirthand know that he had beenunfaithful during this earlystage of their marriage? Oh,but she would understand.Had she been there it would

neverhavehappened.

Eleonore was pregnantagain. This delighted themboth. Little William was sodelicate,theybothfearedthatthey might lose him. If theycould get another son - ahealthy one - they couldbetter bear losing their first-born.WhenHenrythoughtofhis lusty little bastards heaskedhimself,asmanykingshad before, why it was that

the illegitimate offspringwere so healthy and thelegitimateonessofrail.

It was fortunate that theywere enjoying a period ofcomparative peace when themessenger arrived fromEngland.

One of Eleonore’s womenhad seen the approach of arider from a turret windowand hastened to inform hermistress, who looking out

saw that the man was ridingfast even though his horseseemedexhausted.

‘It is important news,’ shecried.‘GoandtelltheDuke.’

She was in the courtyardwhenHenry joined her thereand they were both waitingwhenthemessengerrodeintothecourtyard.

‘I come from theArchbishop of Canterbury,

my lord,’ he said. ‘He begsthe Duke of Normandy ridewith all speed to England.King Stephen is dead. LongliveKingHenry.’

Itwasfortunate,saidMatilda,thatshewasinthecastle.

‘My hopes have beenrealised,’ she said. ‘And tothink it had to come aboutthrough Stephen’s death.Myson,wemust talk atonce…

the three of us. It is veryimportant that you take therightactionnow.’

In the private chamber ofHenry and Eleonore they satwith the Empress. Henrylistened intently to what shehad to say. The fact that shehad once had the crownwithin her grasp and lost itmade Henry regard heradvicewithgreatrespect.Shewas experienced; she knew

theEnglish;shehadoffendedthem in a manner he mustneverdo.Ifshecouldliveherlifeagainshewouldnotmakethe samemistakes.Thereforehe must profit from herexperience. It waswonderfultohavethesetwopeoplewithhim.Caught up as hewas inthemidstoffamilyjealousiesyet therewere twowhomhecould trust absolutely… hiswifeandhismother.

He took their hands andkissed them fervently. Hewanted them to know howmuchhereliedonthem.Theyboth knew it and loved himthemorebecauseofit.

‘Thereshouldbenodelay,’said Eleonore. ‘Stephen isdead. There may be somewhowouldwanttosetuphisyoung son William on thethrone.’

‘I thank God Leicester is

my man,’ said Henry. ‘Andyou are right. I amdetermined to leave forEnglandwithoutdelay.’

‘When you go,’ saidMatilda, ‘you must take acompany with you. It wouldbefollytogowithtoosmallafollowing.’

‘I have already summonedmy leading nobles toassemble at Barfleurpreparatory to sailing for

England. They are eager tocome, seeing rich lands andtitles awaiting them. Theremustbenodelay.’

‘No more than can behelped,’ said Matilda.‘Eleonoremustgowithyou.’

‘Iintendto,’saidEleonore.

‘And you should becrowned, the pair of you, assoonasitcanbearranged.AkingisnotaKingofEngland

until he has been crowned. Iwas the Queen … the trueQueen but my enemies inLondondrovemeout.IfIhadbeencrownedfirst…Itisallover.Butrememberit.’

‘I shall see that thecoronation takes placeimmediately.’

‘And your brothers. Whatof Geoffrey and William?What do you think they willbe at while you are in

England?’

‘Mischief,’ said Henrygrimly.

‘And it will be necessaryfor you to stay there. Youcannot accept the crown andrun away. You will have toshow the English thatEngland is of more momentto you than Normandy. Andmeanwhile Geoffrey willremember his father’s will.Was he not to have Anjou

and Maine when you hadEngland?’

‘Hewould lose it toLouis… or someone. You knowGeoffrey could never holdanything.’

”Tis true. And you areloathtotakeyourhandsoffit.You must keep it, my son.Andtheonlywaytodothisisto take your brothers withyou. Make them work foryou. Promise them lands …

over there. But take themwith you so that they cannotbrewmichiefhere.’

‘By God, you are right,’said Henry. ‘I shall send forthemandassoonasthewindisfavourablewesail.’

‘It is a good thing that hedid not wait amonth or twobefore dying,’ said Eleonorelightly.‘OrImighthavebeentoo advanced in mypregnancy to enjoy a sea

trip.’

Henrywasimpatienttogo.He hated delays. In a shorttime all who were to makethe journey - including hisbrothers - were assembled atBarfleur. But if he couldcommand his subjects Henrycould not command thewinds.

How tiresome was theweather! Stormy dayfollowed stormy day. It was

impossible to set sail in suchweather.

Four weeks passed andthen one day the seas werecalm,theweatherperfect.

And so Henry set sail forEngland.

However, the crossing wasrough and it was impossiblefor the convoy to keeptogether. The ship in which

HenryandEleonore travelledlanded near Southamptonwith a few others, but in ashort time, to Henry’s relief,itwasdiscoveredthatallhadlanded safely and it wouldonly be a matter of a fewhours before everyone wasaccountedfor.

They were not far fromWinchester, and as that wasthe home of the country’streasure Henry decided to

makeforthatcity.

As he approached it, newsofhisarrivalhadspread,andthe chief nobles of theneighbourhood came forwardto greet him and give himtheirallegiance.

It was a triumphant entryinto the city of Winchester.Remembering the oft-toldaccount of hismother’s briefsuccessesHenry realised thathemust have the recognition

ofthepeopleofLondon,thatcity which because of itstrade and riches had becomethechiefofEngland.

He thereforedetermined toleave for London withoutdelay.

The bleak Decemberweather was not toEleonore’s liking as she andHenry set out with theirretinueforthegreatcity.Shehad,itwastrue,grownalittle

accustomed to it in Pariswhich shehadalways felt socold after her ownLanguedoc; but this wasequally chilly and shereminded herself that it waswinter and not the best timeto see the place. Of coursetherewere compensations.Acrown, a country which wasbigger and richer and heldmoreprospectsofpowerandriches than that of France. Itill-behoved her at such a

prospect to object to theweather.

News of their arrival hadspread over the South ofEngland and people camefromtheirhomestocheerthenew King. They promisedthemselvesthatgonewerethetimes when people lived interror of robbers andmurderers on the highwaybecause of the weak rule ofKing Stephen. Their

grandparents remembered thedays of King Henry I whensuch stern punishment wasmetedoutthatoffendersweredeterredfromtheircrimesforfear of losing their hands,feet, ears, noses, or evenhaving their eyes put out.That had made life safe forlaw-abiding people. DuringStephen’sreignmanywickedbarons had built castles withthe sole purpose of usingthem as strongholds from

which they might conducttheir wicked plans to robtravellersandoftentakethemto their castles to torture fortheir sport.Thatwasa returnof an old evil which thosestrong kings William theConqueror and Henry I hadput down.With the return ofamiable Stephen they hadbeguntocomeback.Stephenhadhatedtopunishoffenders.If they were brought to himhewouldsay:‘Letitpassthis

time.Don’tdoitagain.’

So in thisyoungman theysaw new hope. He was thegrandsonof justHenry I andin direct line of succession.As long as he did not takeafter his mother Matilda butafter his grandfather Henrythey would welcome himwhereverhewent.

Theyhadheardthathedidand that when he was inEnglandhehadbeenadmired

and respected by those whohad met him; everywherethere was great hope that hewouldbringback toEnglandthat lawandorderwhichhadbeen instituted by theConqueror.

Herodewithhiswife,oneof themost beautifulwomentheyhadeverseen.Aspecialcheer for her then. And howgraciously she responded!They had never seen such

grace and poise. She wore awimple over which was acircletofsparklingdiamonds,rubies and sapphires. Hergown was fastened at thethroat by a collar of jewelssimilartothoseinthecirclet.Thesleevesofthiswerelongand tight to her wrists andover this she wore a cloakwhichwaslinedwithermine,long and wide so that thetight sleeves of her gownwerevisible.TheEnglishhad

neverseensucheleganceandtheyapplaudedit.

Nowtherewouldbeanendto senseless civil war. Theywouldhavea justkingandabeautiful queen; there wouldbe royal children, for therewas already a son and theQueen was noticeablypregnant.TheyknewthatthisQueenhadbeentheQueenofFrance and had divorced thekingof thatcountry tomarry

theirHenry.

Theylikedherforit.ItwasalwayspleasanttoscoreovertheFrench.Theyhadalreadyadopted Henry as anEnglishman. Was he not thegrandson of their ownHenryI,sonof theConqueror,bornin England, educated there,and who never failed toproclaim himself anEnglishman?

There had been rumours

about the life the Queen hadled on a holy crusade. Itamused them that she hadplayed false the King ofFrance.

So the people of Englandwere very ready to welcometheirnewKingandQueen.

Into London they rode,there tobemetbyTheobald,the Archbishop ofCanterbury, and the chiefnobles. There was no doubt

of the people’s enthusiasm.Henry made himself affable,as did Eleonore. Never foronemomentdidheforgetthedisastrous impression hismother had made on theLondoners and how this hadcostherthecrown.

TheArchbishopwasoftheopinion that the coronationshould take place withoutdelay. Henry agreed withhim. Until a king was

crowned he was not theacknowledged ruler, hismother hadwarned him timeandtimeagain.Hereagainhehadlearnedfromher.Shehadnever achieved the all-importantcoronation.

With a foresightcharacteristic of her, longbefore Stephen’s deathEleonore had sent toConstantinople for the finestmaterial known, so that on

the day of her coronation inWestminster Abbey shewould be looking her mostbrilliant best. The materialshad arrived before she leftBarfleur and she had themwithher.

Shewasthereforereadyforwhatever date was suggestedand as Archbishop Theobaldhadsaid‘Nodelay’,itwastobethe19thDecember.

The great day arrived.

Eleonore was dressed inrobes of silk and brocade ofsuch magnificence as thepeople of England had neverseen before. She was like agoddess. As for Henry, hewasneververyeagertodresshimselfup.Hewasamanofaction and he asked that hisgarments should not impedehim but be comfortable.However on his coronationday he made specialconcessions and because of

this he was able to standbeside his elegant andluxurious queen withoutmaking too great a contrast.His short hair, his shavenchin and moustachiosappealed to the people. Hisdresswasadoubletandshortcloak of the kind which wasnotusualinEnglandalthoughit was a common feature ofAngevin fashion. Hisdalmatica, made of finebrocade, was embroidered in

gold. The pair lookedstartlingly majestic and thespectatorswereenchanted.

‘LonglivetheKingandhisQueen,’ they criedwholeheartedly for theybelieved that a new era wasbeginning. Therewould be acolourful court, such as theyloved and they could take anew interest in the lives oftheirroyalfamily.

Stephen’s queen had been

a good woman but the goodwere never so interesting asthe naughty ones. Stephenhimself though one of thehandsomestmenofhis timeswastoomild.

Theylikedthispair.

TheQueenwouldcease tobe known as Eleonore andwouldbecomeEleanorintheEnglish fashion, and theirKing was affectionatelynicknamed Courtmantle on

account of the shortness ofhiscloak.

Theywereaccepted.

Theweatherwasbleak;thecastle of Westminster wasdraughty, and the Queenmissed the warmth of hersouthern home, but the glowofsatisfactionsheknewfromthisrichacquisition,thislandof mystery, the possessionand holding of which hadbeen thegreatest ambitionof

thegreatestofallConquerors,made up for any lack ofcomfort.

King Henry and QueenEleanor were the rightfulrulersofEngland.Withwhatpride they rode through thestreets; with what joy theylistenedtotheloyalshoutsofthe people. And so toWestminster Palace, there tospend their firstChristmas intheirnewland.

HENRYANDTHOMAS

ChapterVI

THEKING’SWILL

As soon as the Christmasfestivities were over Eleanorbegan to consider her lying-in. Westminster Palace didnot seem a suitable spot andshe decided to move to the

palaceofBermondsey.

This was situated in avillage close to Londonwhere,ashortwhilebefore,aprioryhadbeenbuilt.Itwasapleasantplaceandshesettledinto the Saxon palace withpleasure. From the longnarrowglasslesswindowsshecould see the green fieldssurrounding the palace andwasstruckbytheirfreshness;the gardens were beautiful

tooandshewasgladthatshehadcomehereforthebirthofhersecondchild.

Henry would not be withherduring thoseweekswhensheawaitedthebirth.Hewasverymuchawareof theneedto consolidate his position.Although he was onlytwenty-one he had wisdomfarbeyondhisyears;hewasaborn ruler and a good judgeof human nature. The cheers

of the people at thecoronation still rang in hisears but he was well awarehowfickletheacclaimof thepeople could be. He wouldnever forget that he mustnever relinquish his hold onthecrown.

Thefirstthinghesetaboutdoingwastochoosehischiefministers. The Earl ofLeicester was an obviouschoice;hehadalreadyhadan

indication of his friendshipand he had assessed theman’s character. He knewthatifhewasagoodfriendtoLeicester,theEarlwouldbealoyal subject to him.Therefore he was his firstchoice.AnotherhechosewasRichard de Luci, amanwhohadhadsomestandingunderStephen. Henry did not carethat he had been a supporterof Stephen. He took to themanatonceandreadhonesty

inhisface,andHenrytrustedhisownjudgement.

These two were to be hischief advisers and he toldthem that he intended to gointo action immediately. HewasgoingtoshowthepeopleofEnglandthatheintendedtorestore law and orderthroughout the land and thismeant that he must silenceany who would not accepthim as their King and,

popular as he had been inLondon and Winchester, heknew he could not hope forevery man in the country toacclaimhim.Therewouldforinstance be all those baronswhohadprofitedbythelaxityof the law and had built upriches by exploiting thoseweaker than themselves. Hewasgoingtomakeimmediatewar on such people anddestroy their castles, and forthis reason hewouldmake a

tour of the country that allmight be made aware of thenewKing’sintentions.

This suggestion wasacclaimed by his ministersand all right-thinking menand women, and greatoptimism swept over thecountry.

In Bermondsey, Eleanorawaited thebirthof thechildwhile Henry began hispilgrimage. He travelled in

great state as became a kingand with him rode not onlyhis army but his domesticstaff with all theiraccoutrements. His bed withclean straw for his beddingwas carried in the cavalcade,with objects of furniture, hisclothes and food. Cooks,stewards,scullions,andothermembers of his householdstaff marched with hissoldiers.

People turned out in theirthousands to watch theprocessionpassandsoduringthose early days of his reignhebegantoridthecountryofthe brigand barons, burningdownmanyoftheirfortressesmuch to the delight of thosewhohadforlonglivedinfearofthem.

Therewereofcoursemanywho resented this but theyhad little chance against the

King. As the days passed hegrew in strength and it wasclear to many that the weakruleofStephenwasover.

MeanwhileinthevillageofBermondsey Eleonor gavebirthtoherchild.

Thiswas a cause for greatrejoicingfornotonlywasitaboybutthistimealustyone.Thiswas a great comfort forlittleWilliam’shealthhadnotimproved and it seemed

hardly likely that he wouldreachhismanhood.

‘There is only one namefor this boy,’ declaredEleanor. ‘He must be calledHenryafterhisfather.’

AssoonasEleanorhadrisenfrom child-bed she joinedHenry and they went aboutthe country together in orderto show themselves to theirpeople.

‘Let us be together whilewe can,’ said Henry, ‘for Ifear trouble either inNormandy,Aquitaine,MaineorAnjou… and then I shallhave to leave you to governhereinmyabsence.’

Eleanor replied that shehopedhewouldstaywithher,but if by ill-chance he wasforced togoawayshewoulduse all her skill to govern inhisplaceandaccordingtohis

wishes.

‘It was a good day whenwe were wed,’ he told her.‘Two sons you have alreadygivenmeanditisnotsolongsinceweweremarried.’

‘I am anxious aboutWilliam,’ she said. ‘Hedoesn’tseemtohavethewilltolive,’

‘He’llgrowoutofit.’

‘You could never have

beenlikethat.’

‘Oh,IwouldbawlforallIwanted and when mygrandfather used to dandleme on his knee, he told methat his father grasped ahandful of rushes when hewas a few days old and thatthiswasasymbolofwhathislifewouldbe.He’dtakelandwherever he found it. And itseems I took after him. Youcan’t expect everyone to be

likeus.’

‘I’dexpect itofyour son,’replied Eleanor. ‘Henry ismore like you. He has morelife in him already than ourpoorlittleWilliam.’

‘William’ll change. He’llbe a scholar most likely.Forgetnothehastwolearnedparents.’

Although he was smilinghe was thinking of his

illegitimate son by Hikenaiand of his promise to bringhimtocourt.

Not yet, he comfortedhimself. The boy would betooyoungforafewyears.

During one of his visits toBermondsey his brotherGeoffrey came to the palaceanddemandedanaudience.

Geoffrey’s looks weresullen.

‘How like you England?’askedHenry.

‘HowcouldIlikealandinwhich I am a pauperdepending on my brother’swhims?’demandedGeoffrey.

‘What an impatient fellowyou are!’ retorted Henry. ‘Ihave not had the crown longenoughtodisposeoflandandcastles.’

‘I believe some have been

favouredbyyou.’

‘Those whose support itwasnecessary tohave,yes. Iexpectyours,brother,withoutpayment.’

‘Perhaps you expect toomuch,’grumbledGeoffrey.

‘Be patient, brother. Greatgoodwillcometoyouifyouwillbutbepatient.’

‘Great good should havecome tomebynow.Didnot

my father leave me AnjouandMaine in his will, to bemine when you gained thecrownofEngland?’

‘All in good time,’ parriedHenry.

Andhethought:Howlongwould this boy hold AnjouandMaine? To give them tohimwould be to throw themtoourenemies.

‘In whose good time?’

demandedGeoffrey.‘Mineoryours?’

‘In that of the King’s,’answered Henry; andGeoffrey went awaygrumbling.

Very soon afterwardsHenry heard that his brotherhad left England and hadreturnedtoAnjou.

It was as he had expected.

Geoffrey had gone back toraisementohisstandard.Hewas declaring that he hadright on his side. His fatherhadlefthimAnjouandMainewhich were to come to himwhen his brother secured thecrown of England and nowHenry refused to hand themover. There was only onethingtodoandthatwasfightforthem.

AsHenrywas occupied in

England there were menready to flock to Geoffrey’sbanner.

Matilda, the Empress, hadcometoEngland.Shewantedto see her son in the crownwhich she had alwaysbelieved should have beenhers.Hewasdelightedtoseeher for her single-mindeddevotiontohimhadendearedher to him, and he believedshehadneverreallycaredfor

anyone but himself, and thathecouldrelyonheradvice.

He told her of Geoffrey’sfury and pointed out that hecould not give him the landhis father had promised him.She saw the point at once.Only her eldest son wasworthy to rule.Allherhopeswere in him. His brothers,she, believed, should havebeencontentedtoservehim.

The more possessions in

the hands of the King ofEngland, the more powerfulhewouldbeandthatwasforthe good of the House ofPlantagenet.

‘You will never get mybrothers to see that,’ sighedHenryruefully.‘ThereisalsoWilliam. How shall I satisfyhim?Hewillsoonbewantingterritory to rule over. I havebeen talking over withEleanoraplanforconquering

Ireland and setting upWilliamasitsking.’

Matilda was thoughtful.‘That’swell enough for lateron.Firstyoumustmakesureof your position here, andwhat of Anjou and Maine?What do you think wouldhappenifyoutookawarintoIreland? Geoffrey wouldimmediately revolt and takeyour possessions over there.Perhaps even Normandy.

Nay! You have secured thecrownofEngland.Nowmakesurethatyoulosenothingthatyou have before you seekfresh conquests. You shouldgo. and see what mischiefGeoffreyismaking.’

He talked this propositionover with Eleanor and shewas sure that Matilda wasright.

‘I shall miss you bitterly,’she said. ‘But you must go

and save Anjou and Maine.’Shegrewpale.‘PerhapsevenAquitaine is in danger. Nay,you must go. You can leaveme here with Leicester andRichard de Luci. You knowyoucantrustus.’

‘Aye, I know,’ answeredHenry; and he thought: Theyare right. This is whathappened to my grandfatherand my greatgrandfather.Their lives were spent

between England andNormandy because being inpossession of one there wasalways the need to keep theother.

Eleanorwaspregnantoncemore.Hemustleaveher.Shewould be capable of rulingwith the help of men whomhecouldtrust.

And so he set sail for histroubled possessions acrossthesea.

There was much to occupyher.

Shehadsetaboutmakingacourt in England to comparewith those which haddelighted her in Aquitaineand Paris. Alreadytroubadours from Provencewere coming to her court.Theyweresingingtheirsongsofloveandoftenshewastheheroine of the romantic

storiestheyportrayed.

Wheneversherodeoutherclothes were admired by thepeoplewho gathered to stareatherandraisealoyalshout.She set new fashions. Shewas often seen with her hairloosely plaited covered byfine gauze; her gowns withtheir long hanging sleeveswere the delight and wonderof the citizens of London, acity of which she was

becomingveryfond.

ShedelightedintheTowerof London at the east end ofthe city; she liked to passunderthegatewayofLudgateand enter the old cathedral;she loved the river downwhich she sailed toWestminster past the Strandwith the beautiful gardensrunning down to the river’sedge.Itwasthepowerofthecity that she loved for itwas

the richest city in England,and she liked to remindherselfthatthesepeoplewerehersubjectsandthatshewithHenryruledoverthisland.

There were times thoughwhen she sighed for thewarmer breezes of Aquitaineand she longed to be thereagain, Henry and hertroubadours beside her; butshe realised that the destinywhich had made him a king

decreedthattheywouldoftenhave to be parted from eachother,asnowwhenitwasherduty to watch their interestsin England while he madesurethathisturbulentbrotherdid not succeed in hisambitiousschemes.

Sinceshewaspregnantshedid not miss him so sorely.Her children occupied hertime. It seemed that after allshewasmeanttobeamother

for she changed when shebecame pregnant and whenher babies were young. Sheoften thought of Marie andAlix and wondered if theymissed her. She thought tooof Louis with his new wifeandwhetherhehadforgottenher.

But there was too muchnear at hand and in thepresent for her to concernherselfwithfar-offdays.

There was the new baby,the mischief which littleHenry was constantlybrewing and the growingweaknessoflittleWilliam.

Thatwashermainconcern.His nurses shook their headsoverhim.Hegrewmorepaleand listless every day; andvery soon before the newbaby was born she knew forsurethatwhenshegainedonechildshewouldloseanother.

Andsoithappened.

Shewaswithhimwhenhedied. She held his little handin hers and he gazed at herwith wondering eyes asthough to ask her why shehad borne him since his stayon earth was to be so brief.Hewasbutthreeyearsold.

Shetookhimintoherarmsand held his frail body closetohers.

‘Rest my little one,’ shesaid.‘Itmaybethatyouhavebeensparedmuchsorrow.’

Andsodied littleWilliam,the firstborn, the son ofwhom they had had suchbrighthopes.

The newly born child was adaughter. Eleanor thought itwould please the Empress ifthischildwasnamedafterhersotheycalledherMatilda.

IthadnottakenHenrylongto bring Geoffrey to hisknees. Of course Henry hadno intention of giving himAnjou. Their father hadpromised it, it was true, butHenry knew that his fatherhad not been noted for hiswisdom.Henrywasnotgoingto give Anjou into hisbrother’s feckless hands. Buthis father had left that fairland toGeoffrey.Therewerethe conditions plain enough.

TobeGeoffrey’swhenHenrybecameKing ofEngland. SoHenry compromised bypromisingtopayGeoffreyanincome of several thousandpounds a year for possessionofAnjou.

This seemed a reasonablearrangementtobothbrothers.To Geoffrey, because heknewhewouldneverbeabletohold it against hisbrother,and to Henry, because he

knew Anjou would never besafewhilehewasnotathandto protect it. Moreoverpromises could always bebroken,and ifGeoffreyweresuch a fool as to believe hecouldbepaidsomuchmoneyyearlyhedeservedtoloseit.

So the arrangement wasmade and then Geoffrey hadan unexpected offer fromBrittany. That province wasin turmoil. Itwas thepreyof

robbers and needed a strongruler. As Geoffrey was thebrother of the man to whommanywerebeginningtoshowrespect and who could cometo his help if need be, heseemed a good candidate totake over Brittany. It was aheaven-sent opportunity inHenry’seyes.

Geoffrey would now havealandtorule.Hewouldbeanimportantman.Hewastoget

his pension for handing overAnjou - or rather forrefraining from attempting totakeit.

Allwaswellforawhile.

Henry decided thatEngland could safely be leftin thehandsofLeicesterandRichard de Luci and of hisministers, and that Eleanorwho had suffered the loss ofyoung William and hadrecently undergone the trials

of childbirth, should spend alittle time in her belovedAquitaine. The winter wouldbe more comfortably passedthere.

Eleanorwas delighted, notonlytorejoinherhusbandbuttobeoncemoreinhernativeland.

Whatajoyitwastobethere!She felt young again. Thesewere like the days when she

and her sister Petronelle hadsat in thegardensandplayedtheir lutes and sang theirsongs of the pleasures oflove.

Petronelle was now at thecourtofFranceofcourse.Sheoften wondered about hermarriage with Raoul deVermandois and thought ofhow she had felt a littlejealousy because Ralph’simpassionedglanceshadonce

been directed towards her.Theyhad twodaughtersnow-Eleonore and Isabelle.Thatseemed long ago and shewondered how she couldhaveconsideredthefastidiousRaoul de Vermandoisattractive.

NowshecomparedallmenwithHenryandtheysufferedin the comparison. Thatseemed strange for even shehadtoadmitthathewasnota

handsome man - nor was hetall as Raymond of Antiochhadbeen.Raymondhadbeenamanwhomeveryonewouldnotice not only for hishandsome looks but for hisoutstanding stature. Henrywas a man who commandedimmediate attention becauseof his strength. He was notfastidiousasthemenshehadpreviouslyadmiredhadbeen.He was not gallant; he wastooimpatienttowastewords.

There was too much ofinterestinhislifetogivehimtimetorest.Hesleptlittle;hewas up with the dawn; herarelysatdown;hecouldnotendure inactivity. When hishair, which was thick andcurly, was clipped square onhis forehead, he resembled alion, for his nostrils flaredand his eyes could be hotwith rage. He was clearlymadetofitasaddleandwhenhe sat a horse he and the

animal were as one. Hisclothes were never fancyexcept for State occasionswhen he realised the need toappearkinglyandimpressthemultitude. His hands werestrong and their skin rough,for he scorned gloves andwouldrideoutinbitingwindswithout them. They impededhisprogresshesaid,andwerefor ladies. He was a greathuntsman, a trait he hadinherited from his ancestors.

Itwashismostpopular formof relaxation.Notwithstanding all hisinterestshewasascholar.Henever forgot the trainingwhichhisuncle-hismother’sbastard brother - haddetermined he should have.Henrywasamanwhoneededlittle sleep, who wished hismind to be active everymoment of his waking hoursashisbodywas.

It was small wonder,Eleanor often thought, thatshe had remained enamouredofhim.

He was always in herthoughts.Shewonderedwhatwould have happened if shecouldhavemarriedhimwhenshemarriedLouis.Thatmadeher laugh. Henry had beenbut a baby at that time. Shehad never noticed thedifference in their ages. Had

he,shewondered?

Theirpassionwasasstrongas ever, and after theirseparations which happenedfrequently, they were unitedas they had been in the firstdaysoftheirmarriage.

She was, of course,learning to know him. Histemperwasquickandviolentand when it arose everyonearoundhimwasterrified.Hisnostrils would flare and his

eyes flash; he would kickinanimate objects andsometimes lie on the floorandpummelitwithhisfists.

These rages were terribleand when they occurred itwas as though devilspossessedhim.

Eleanor, capable ofshowing anger herself, washorrified to see the extent towhich Henry’s rages carriedhim.Duringthefirstyearsof

their marriage she had seenlittleofthissideofhisnaturebecause he had been socontentwithhismarriageandhis gaining of the Englishcrown.Butwhenanycrossedhim,thesefitsofangerwouldtake possession of him, andoncehehaddecided thatanyman or woman was hisenemy he could never seethemasanythingelse.

Nevertheless she

understoodhimandshelovedhimandhewassufficientforher. She would have likedhim to have joined her onthose occasions when hertroubadours were gatheredabout her. She would haveliked Henry to have sung asong of love which he hadwrittentoher.

Henry had little time forsuchpastimes.So she sighedand decided that she would

hold her little court withouthim.

There were many whowerereadytosingtheirsongsto her. She felt young again.Ardenteyesglowedintoherswhile delicate fingers -different from Henry’s bluntweather-battered ones -pluckedatlutestrings.

WhathaveIdonesincemymarriagetoHenry?sheaskedherselfasshelistened.Ihave

bornechildren-threeinthreeyears. I have either beenpregnant or giving birth. Shelaughed.Thedutyofaqueenof course but hardly fittingfortheheroineofalovesong.

Henryhadseemedcontent.The death of little Williamhad shocked him, not somuchforthelossofthechildbutbecausehewashiseldestson.TheyhadyoungHenry-thatwas good - andMatilda,

butHenrywantedmoresons.He was constantly speakingof the plight of hisgrandfatherHenry Iwhohadhad one legitimate son -though many illegitimateones-andwhenthatsonhadbeendrownedtherewasonlyhis daughter to follow him.What had happened? Civilwar.

‘We must get sons,’ saidHenry. ‘We have my little

namesake but look whathappened to William. Weneedmore sonsandwemustget themwhileyouareofanagetobearthem.’

He was in his earlytwenties - plenty of time forhim.Buther?Thetimewhenshewouldceasetobeabletobear children was not so faraway.

Thiswasthefirstreferencetothedifferenceintheirages.

It ruffledher like the fainteststirringofarisingwind.

And so she must go onbearing children. She couldbeafondmotherbutshewasa woman of too strong apersonality to subdue it tothat of others - husband orchildren.

Encroaching age,childbearing, those werematters for the future. Hereshe was in her beloved

chateau surrounded bytroubadours whose delight itwas tosingsongs to the ladyof their dreams, and whocould inspire them to suchecstasyastheirQueen?

There was one among allthose who sang to her whoattracted her attention morethan any other. This was ahandsomeyoungman namedBernard. He called himselfBernard de Ventadour but it

waswhisperedthathehadnoright to thename.Itwastruethat he had been born in theChateau de Ventadour, buthis enemies said that he wasthe sonofoneof thekitchenwomenandaserf.TheComteand Comtesse de Ventadour,as was the custom with somany,allowedthechildtobebroughtupontheirestateandsohewouldhavehadaccesstothecastle.

That he was possessed ofespecial gifts was soonapparent, and as the CountandCountess lovedsongandpoetryhewasallowedtojointheircompanyofsingers.

It soon became clear thathe was a poet of no smallabilityandasboth theCountand Countess encouragedhim, his fame spread andmany came to the castle tohearhisverses.

The subject of these was,naturally, love, and everypoet of the day selected themost beautiful and desirableladyofhiscircle towhomtoaddress his words. TheCountess of Ventadour wasundoubtedly a beautifulwomanandtowhomshouldamember of her householdaddress his poems but to theladyofthecastle?

ThesongsofBernardgrew

moreandmoredaringandashe sang themhewould sit atthe feet of the Countess andgive her the benefit of hiseloquent love-hungry eyes.This was the custom; eachtroubadour had his lady; butmostofthetroubadourswereofnoblefamiliesandthatthesonofanovengirlandaserfshould raise his eyes to acountess and sing of hislongings was more daringthancouldbecountenanced.

In any case the Countthought so. He told Bernardthat there was no longer aplace for him at the ChateaudeVentadour.

Bernard could do nothingbut prepare to leave.Hewasnot unduly disturbed, for hehadheardthatQueenEleanorwasinresidenceinhernativelandandhisreputationasoneofthefinestpoetsinthelandhadtravelledfar.

He presented himself toEleanor who received himimmediatelyforshehadlongadmired his poems and evenset someof them toher ownmusic.

‘You are welcome,’ shetold him. ‘I look forward tohearingyousingforus.’

To express respectfuladmirationwassecondnaturetoBernard.Andnowthatthebeauty of the Countess was

removeditwasreplacedbyabrighter luminary. Eleanorcouldnothelpbutbepleasedby the frank admiration,bordering on adoration,whichshereadinhiseyes.Itwas comforting following onHenry’s implication that theymust get sons while she stillhadtimetobearthem.

Bernard, now known asBernard de Ventadour - asfine a name as any of

Eleanor’s courtiers - becamethe favoured poet of theQueen’s entourage. He wasconstantly at her feet. Poemsand songs poured from himand their subject was alwaysEleanor,theQueenofLove.

She could not but bepleased. Bernard had such abeautiful voice. He waswriting some of the bestpoetryinFranceanditwastoher. Such words intoxicated

her.

Henrycameonceuponhercircle of troubadours and satdownamongthem.Hisquickeyes took in the sprawlingfigure of Bernard deVentadour at her feet and henoticedthesoftlooksEleanorcastinthepoet’sdirection.

Hiseyesnarrowed.Hedidnotthinkforonemomentthatthis emotion which wasobviously between them

couldpossiblybetheresultofphysical love.Eleanorwouldhave too much sense. Anychildsheborecouldbeakingor queen ofEngland and shewasenoughaqueen toknowthatchildcouldhaveonlyonefather andhe theKing.Evenso, there was no doubt thatshe liked this pretty fellowwith his delicate beringedhands.HewonderedwhetherEleanor had given him theringshewaswearing.

He watched and listenedandheremembered thatverysoon hewould have to bringhis bastards to court. ForAvice’s children that wouldbe easy, for they had beenborn before he had knownEleanor.ButyoungGeoffrey,Hikenai’s son, would need alittle explaining because hehad been born after theirmarriage. For all Eleanor’slively past she had been afaithful wife, which was

surprising. But she had beenfully occupied withchildbearing. No sooner wasone child born than anotherwasonthewayandtherehadbeenlittletimeforanyextra-marital adventures as far asshewasconcerned.Hecouldseebyher fondness for thesepoets who sang of a lovewhichnever seemed to reachany physical fulfilment thatshe was living in someromantic dream and that

meant that it would bedifficult forher to accept theneeds of a man such ashimself.Hewasnoromantic.He was a realist. Womenwereimportantinhislifeandhe had no intention that itshould be otherwise. It wassomethingshehadtocometotermswith,andshewouldonthe day he brought youngGeoffrey to court and hadhimbroughtupinthatspecialmanner reserved for a king’s

bastards. His grandfatherHenry I had had enough ofthem.WilliamtheConquerorhad not it seemed. He hadneverheardofasingleoneofhis.Butnoonecouldhopetobe like the Conqueror whohadonlylivedtoconquerandrule.Theseweregoodenoughmattersbutnotenoughtofilla man’s life. And Eleanorwould have to be made tounderstand.

He saw in this Ventadouraffair ameans ofmaking histaskeasierwhen themomentcame to confront her withyoungGeoffrey.

He rose suddenly in themiddle of one of Bernard’ssongs and left the company.Eleanorlookedafterhimwithamazement but she remainedseated until the song wasfinished.

Then she said: ‘It seems

thattheKingwasnotpleasedwith your little piece,Bernard.’

‘Andmylady?’

‘I thought it excellent. Ifthe ladyyou singof really ispossessedof somuchbeautyand virtue she must be agoddess.’

‘She is,’ replied Bernardfervently.

‘And your recital of her

virtues clearly bored theKing.’

‘I care not for the King’sboredom if I give the Queenpleasure.’

‘Be careful, Bernard. TheKingisaviolentman.’

He bowed his head. Howgraceful he was! Howgallant! And how she lovedhispoetry!

When she was alone with

Henryhedecidedtobegintheattack.

‘That oven girl’s bastardwill have to leave the court,’hesaid.

‘Bernard! Why he isreckoned as one of thegreatestpoetsinthecountry.’

‘A slut’s bastard to givehimselfairs!’

‘His talent makes himequaltoanearl.’

‘Not inmy eyes,’ said theKing. ‘And I like not theinsolent manner in which heregardsyou.’

‘Insolent!He isnever that.He respects none as he doeshisQueen.’

‘ByGod,’ cried Henry, ‘itseemsthefellowaspirestobeyourlover.’

‘Onlyinhisdreams.’

‘Dreams! The upstart dog!

TellhimthatIshallsendhimback to the ovens where hebelongs.’

‘No great poet belongsworkingatanoven.Youhavesome learning, Henry. Youhave a respect for talent …onemightsaygenius.’

‘And I say insolence,’shouted the King. ‘I’ll havehiseyesputout.’

‘The whole of Aquitaine

would rise against you. Agreat poet … one of ourgreatest … and simplybecausehewritesapoem…’

‘To the Queen,’ criedHenry, ‘towhomhesuggests…whatdoeshesuggest?Bymymother’s blood; if wordswere deeds he would be inyourbed.Iswearit.’

‘But words are not deedsandItrustIknowmyduty.’

TheKingseizedherbyhershouldersandthrewherontothebed.

‘Know this,’ he said, ‘ifever I heard that you haddeceivedmeIwouldkillyourlover.Doyouknowthat?’

‘And rightly so. I wouldnotblameyou.’

‘So you would not haveblamedLouisifhehadkilledyourlovers.’

‘TalktomenotofLouis.’

‘Indeed,IamnoLouis.’

‘Would I have loved you,borne your children if youhadbeen?’

‘YouboreLouischildren.’

‘Iwasyoungerthen.Iwastrapped and I had not thenfound the way out of thetrap.’

‘I like not this dalliance

withyourpoet.’

‘Whydoyoufear Ishouldpreferhimtoyou?’

The king picked up thestoolwhichstoodintheroomandthrewitagainstthewall.

Through the castle therewashushedsilence.TheKingwasinoneofhistempers.Hewas showing his anger andjealousy and suspicionagainstBernarddeVentadour

and the young poet waswarned that he should slipquietly away until the stormhadblownover.

Henry raged about theapartment accusing her ofinfidelity but there wassomething lacking in thisboutofrage.

FinallyheflunghimselfontothebedwhereEleanorhadlainwatchinghim.

He seized herwith suddenpassion and declared oncemore that he would run hissword through anymanwhodaredtomakelovetoher.

Eleanor accepted hisembraces; Ventadour retiredfrom the court although hewas to return later; and verysoon after that incidentEleanor discovered that shewasoncemorepregnant.

Since Henry’s appearance

in France the situation therehad become more peacefulandhefeltitwastimethathereturnedtoEngland.

He had no intention ofleaving Eleanor behind inFrance. He decided that sheandthechildrenshouldtravelback to England ahead ofhim.Thenewchildshouldbebornthere.

ShemissedAquitaineandher

troubadours for althoughthere were many poets andsingers at her court they didnotseemthesameasthoseofProvence. Often she thoughtofBernarddeVentadourwhohad been driven from theCastle of Ventadour becauseof his verses to theCountessand now had displeased theKingbecauseofhisdevotiontoEleanor.

Bernard was a man who

musthavealadytowhomhecould address his poems.Nodoubt by this time he hadfound another castle andanotherlady.

She shrugged asideromantic thoughts and gaveherself up to the matter ofpreparing for another birth.My destiny, she thought! Isthere to be no end of it? If Iget another son I shall call ahalttothispattern.

Shedreamedofason.Shewanted a son this time. Shewas fond of her children butyoung Henry was toooverbearing, and alreadylooked like his father. Hebullied Matilda who did notshow the spirit of thegrandmother for whom shehadbeennamed.

This son would bedifferent, she promisedherself.Tallandhandsomeas

RaymondofAntioch,asgreatarulerashisfather,intruthaking. But how could he be,whenhehadanelderbrother?

It pleased her to dream ofthis son who had beenconceived in the warmth ofAquitaine. Aquitaine shouldbe his. She patted her bodyand whispered: ‘I shallbequeathittoyou,littleson.’

The child moved withinher and she laughed

delightedly. He must haveunderstood her. She wasconvincedthisonewasgoingtobenoordinarychild.

She had travelled toOxford for she had decidedthatinthisneighbourhoodthechild should be born. Justoutside the walls of the city,closetothenortherngatewasBeaumont Palace with itsserene views of greenmeadows beyond which rose

the turrets of Oxford Castlefrom which years agoHenry’s mother had escapedon the ice. Here her childshouldbeborn.

She had no intention ofnursing the child herself andasked her women to find agood woman, with childherself,whocouldactaswet-nursetotheroyalinfant.

The woman, clearly in avery advanced stage of

pregnancy,wasbroughttothepalace and there she wasinstalledintheroyalnursery.

The Queen lay languidlyon her bed and bade thewoman sit down that shemight study her. She wasclean, a country womanclearly. Her skin was fresh-looking and she was buxomandquitecomely.

‘It cannot be long beforeyouarebrought tobed,’ said

Eleanor.

‘Nay, my lady. I expect ithourly.’

‘You have no fear ofchildbirth?’

‘Whyno,mylady.‘Tisallnaturallike.’

She was not new tobreeding and it was for thisreason that she had beenchosen,forshewasknowntohave good milk and enough

fortwobabies.

The royal child would befed first and if there wasenough over then she mightfeed her own baby. Sheunderstood this and wasdelighted to do the serviceasked of her. A stay in theroyal palace, the honour ofsuckling a royal child.Everyoneknewawomanwaswellrewardedforthat.

‘What is your name ?’

askedEleanor.

‘ItisHodierna,mylady.’

‘Well then, you must takegood care of yourself for byso doing youwill have goodmilkandonlythebestwillbegoodenoughformychild.’

‘I know it well, my lady,’saidHodierna.

Shewasbroughttobedthevery next day and gave birthto a boy. Eleanor herself

visited her and admired thechild.

He was to be calledAlexander.

AfewdayslaterasonwasborntoEleanor.

HewascalledRichardandfrom the first he was morehandsome than his brother.His limbs were long andstraight and Eleanor lovedhimdearly.

Hodierna was the bestpossible foster-mother andshe was right when she saidshehadenoughmilk for twoboys.

As themonthspassed theygrew into two of the finestboysatcourtandintimetheywere very much aware ofeachotherlikebrothers.

When Henry returned hecame to Oxford to see hisnew son. He admired young

Richard, none could helpdoing that. But it was clearthathehad somethingonhismind.

He had. He had seenHikenai again and she hadreminded him of his promisetodosomethingfortheirson.He knew he could not delaythemattermuchlonger.

LittleGeoffreywouldhaveto be brought to the nurseryand while the good foster-

mother was there with herlittle son Alexander, itseemed a good moment tointroducehim.

HesaidtoEleanorwhentheywere in their bedchamber,‘Therewill be an addition tothenursery.’

Shedidnotunderstandhimat first. ‘An addition? Wehavetwosonsandadaughter.Is that not enough? Do you

wantmetospendallmytimein the awkward state ofpregnancy?’

‘Nay,nay,’he said. ‘Iwasnotthinkingofanotherforus,thoughdoubtlesstherewillbemore. It is a boy in whom Ihaveaninterest.’

‘You have an interest!’Eleanorhadsatup.Shethrewback her long hair and therewas bright colour in hercheeks.

‘Aye,’heansweredfirmly,‘averyspecialinterest.’

‘Whyso?’shedemanded.

‘I do not intend to beinterrogated.’

‘Perhaps not. But I intendtointerrogate.’

‘You forget, Madam, thatyouspeaktotheKing.’

She had leaped from thebed. She stood facing him,

her arms folded across herbreasts.

‘Are you telling me thatyouwanttobringoneofyourbastardsintomynursery?’

‘I am telling you,Madam,that I shall bring one of mybastardsintomynursery.’‘I’llnothaveit.’

‘Theboywillbearrivinginafewdays.’

‘Heshallnotstay.’

‘Hewillstaywithhishalf-brothers. That good womanHodiernawill be told thatheis tohavethesametreatmentastheothers.’

‘Howoldishe?’

‘Somethreeyears.’

‘A little younger thanWilliamwouldhavebeen.So…’ She stared at himincredulously. ‘You … you

lecher!’

He laughed at her. ‘A fineonetotalk.Awomanwholaywithherownuncle.’

Sheliftedherhandtostrikehim, but he caught it andflungherfromhim.

‘Knowthis,’hesaid.‘Iamthe master here. You are asubject no less than anyother.’

‘I … your subject! What

wereyoubutamereDukeofNormandy! I brought youAquitaine.’

‘That is in the past. I amtheKingofEnglandnow.’

‘AndIamtheQueen.’

‘Through my good grace.Remember it. I could haveyou imprisoned this verynighthadIwishedit.’

‘How…dareyou!’

‘You will find that theKingofEnglanddaresmuch.’

‘Soyouwerenotfaithfultome… not even at that time…inthoseearlydays!’

‘I was away a long time.How did you expect me tokeepfromwomen?Shewasawomanoflightmorals.Therewasnothingmorethanthat.’

‘And I must have thebastard of a woman of light

morals brought up with mychildren!’

‘HeisoftheKing’sblood.’

‘Do you think I will havehiminmynursery?’

‘Yes,Madam, I do.And Iswear toyou that shouldyoutrytoharmhiminanywayIwill takemy revenge on youand such will it be that youwillwishyouhadneverlivedtoseetheday.’

‘Do you think I am of akind to take revenge onbabies?’

‘Nay I do not. I think youare sensible enough to seereason.’

‘Henry,Iamaruler inmyown right. I will not betreatedinthisway.’

‘You will be treated inwhatmannerIthinkfit.’

‘Ihavedonemuchforyou

…’

‘And I for you. Did I notmarry you … a divorcedwoman twelve years olderthanmyself!’

‘Ishallhateyouforthis.’

‘Do so. We will begetmoresons inhate.Come,wewillbeginnow.’

Shetoreherselfawayfromhimbuthewouldnot releaseher. He was exultant. The

difficult task which he haddreadedwas over. She knewtherewasachildandthatthatchild was coming to hernurseryandsheacceptedthisfact just as she accepted himnow. Hewas still irresistibletoher.

Shewouldgrowoutofherromanticfantasies.Shewouldforget the songs that weresungbyhertroubadours.Lifewasnotlikethat.

Men such as hewaswhenaway from their wives tookotherwomen.Hehadthoughtshe would have beenexperienced enough to knowthat. There would beseparations in the years tocome and other women …legions of them. She mustlearn toaccept it and if therewas a bastard or two whomhewantedbroughtupatcourtthen that bastard should bebroughtupatcourt.

Shedid accept it. Shewastoomuchofarealisttostandagainst that which wasinevitable.Butherfeelingforhim changed from that time.Shewouldnolongerconsiderwhat was good for him; shewould think of her own willandpleasure.

ThebastardGeoffreycameto the nursery. He was anengaginglittlefellowand,theKing was particularly

interested in him anddeterminedthatheshouldnotbemadetofeelinferiortohishalf-brothers.

As for the Queen sheignored the boy, and for herson Richard there grew upwithin her a tenderness ofwhich she had not thoughtherselfcapable.

The relationship betweenthem having changed they

began to see in each otherfaults which they had notnoticed before. To EleanorHenry seemed often crude inhismanners;hisstyleofdresswas unimaginative; shedisliked his rough hands.Although he could beoverbearing where his willwas concerned she oftenthoughthelackedthebearingof a king. That was not trueexactly.Hismannerwassuchas to command immediate

obedience.Whatsheobjectedto was his lack of grace, hissimple clothes and themannerinwhichherarelysatdowntoeatbuttookhisfoodstandingasthougheatingwasahabithehad little time for.When she thought of thegracious banquets which hadtaken place at her father’scourt and that of Louis too,she was impatient. His ragestoo had increased. He madenoattempt tocontrolhimself

inherpresence.Shehadseenhimlieonthefloorandgnawthe rushes in his fury. Therewere times then when shethoughthewouldgomad,forhis eyes would be wild, hisnostrils would flare and hewould indeed resemble thelion to which peoplecompared him. It was theseviolent rages which held somanyinaweofhim.Yetshehad to admit he was greatlyrespected, andheboundmen

tohiminamannerwhichwassurprisingforhethoughtlittleoflyingorbreakingpromises.His one idea was to makeEngland great and to holdevery bit of land which hadcome intohis possession.Hewanted people to regard himas they had his great-grandfather, the mightyConqueror. There was adifference though. GreatWilliam had been single-minded in his conquests. He

had married his wife and inspite of long separations hadbeen almost entirely faithfulto her. William had been acold man sexually; Henrywas hot. Eleanor knew thisand it was a sadness to herthatherfeelingshadchanged,for he was still important toher. She could not regret hermarriage. She despisedherselfforhavingendoweditwith an idealism which sheshould have known it could

never possess. She was aromantic; Henry was a lustyearthyman.The quality theyshared was a love of powerandithadwoundedherproudspirit that she shouldhave toaccept his infidelity. Whathurtmostwas thatwhile shehad been faithfully dreamingof him he had been sportingwith harlots, and one inparticular he must havethought of with affection,since he brought her child to

theroyalnursery.Howmanybastardsofhiswerescatteredround the country? shewondered.

She could not hate thechild in the nursery, butHenry, to subdue her, mademuch of the boy. He hadmade it clear that he was tobetreatednodifferentlyfromHenryorthebabyRichardoryoungMatilda.Itwouldbeadifferent matter when they

grew up. Young masterGeoffrey would learn thedifference then between theheirs of the King and hisbastards. She knew thatHenrymademuchoftheboychiefly to annoy her andrefused to let him see howmuchitdid.

Her baby Richard was agreat comfort to her.Hewasgoing to be handsome.Already he showed signs of

hisspirit, screamingforwhathe wanted and charmingeveryoneinthenurseryatthesametime.Henryignoredthechild.SometimesshethoughtRichard was aware of it, forwhenever his father camenearhimheyelledinanger.

Henry, too, consideredtheir changed relations. Shewasavirago,hedecided,andall kings should have meekwives who obeyed

unquestioningly.Stephenhadbeen luckywith hisMatilda,for although she had been aclever woman, quite astrategist it had turned out,and had done so much tofurther her husband’s cause,she had never criticised himand always wished to pleasehim. Had he married mymother, thought Henry, hewould have noticed thedifference. Henry laughedremembering the fierce

quarrels between his fatherand mother. Whenever theywere together there had beenconflict. He could rememberhearing the shouts of abusewhich theyhad flungateachother.What hatred there hadbeen between those two!Hismother had been ten yearsolder than his father.Andhewas twelve years youngerthanEleanor.Wasitapatternin their families - younghusbands, older wives, and

stormymarriages?

But he could not comparehis marriage with that of hisparents. Theirs had been oneof pure hate and contemptfromthestart.Howhisfatherhadevergothismotherwiththree sons was hard toimagine. But they had donetheir duty and here hewas -thank God the eldest, for hehad little respect from hisbrothers Geoffrey and

William.

And his feelings forEleanor? Well, he did notregret his marriage. She hadbrought him Aquitaine andshewas a queen to be proudof. No woman ever lookedquite as elegant as Eleanor.She knew what clothes sheshould wear and she knewhow towear them.Wherevershe was she caught people’seyes and that was what a

queen should do. The peopleofEnglandwerewaryofheras they would be of allforeigners but they liked tolook at her and shewaswellworthlookingat.

But she was a proudwoman. A meek man wouldbe overawed by her. Hethought of poor Louis ofFrance. All those years shehad beenmarried to him shehad treated him badly and

still he had been reluctant tolet her go. He laughed tohimselftopictureherarrivingatAntiochandsettingeyesonherhandsomeuncle.Andinashorttimeshewassharinghisbed and that of an infidel itseemed!Hehadmuchtoholdagainst her if ever shequestionedhisbehaviour.

Life with Eleanor wouldhenceforth be a battle. Hewas excited by the prospect,

so he could not regret hismarriage. Moreover she hadbrought him Aquitaine. Howcould he ever regretAquitaine?

Eleanor was fitted to be aqueenineverywayprovidingshehadahusbandwhoknewhowtosubdueher.Whenshehad learned that the King’swill was law he would behappy enough in hismarriage. They would have

more children. She hadprovedshecouldgetsonsandhewouldnotbeadverse toadaughter or two. They madesuchexcellentcountersinthegame of politics.Amarriagehere and there could cementanalliancefarbetterthananywrittencontract.

But she had to realise thathewas theKing and that hewouldbeobeyed.ShewashisQueen and a certain amount

ofrespectwasduetoher,butwhat was given her camethrough his grace, and shemustbegratefultohimforit.

To expect that of Eleanorwas asking a good deal andthatwaswhatmadethebattlebetweenthemexciting.

Child-bearing had had itseffect on her. Although shedid not feed her childrenherself, fearing to impair herbeautiful high firm breasts,

the bearing of so manychildren in so short a timehad slightly changed herfigure. She had borne himfour children and then therewere Louis’s two girls. Awoman who had given birthtosixchildrencouldscarcelybe the sylph she had beenwhen a young girl. She nolonger attracted himphysically as she had done.The intense desire he hadexperienced when he first

knew her was replaced by apassionwhichhaditsrootsinthedesiretosubdueher.

Yet deep within him therewas hope for a different sortof relationship. The idealwomanwouldhavebeenonewhoadoredhim,submittedtohim, was faithful to him inevery way, whose personalegoism was overlaid by herdesire to serve him. Therewere such women. The late

KingStephenhadfoundone.To such a woman he wouldhave been kind and tender.He would not have beenfaithful to her. Had Stephenbeen faithful to his Matilda?Itwasawell-knownfact thathe had not. Yet her feelingshad never swerved and shehad proved herself a cleverwoman inherdesire to serveherhusband.Therewereveryfewwomen in theworld likeMatilda of Boulogne, and

Eleanorwascertainlynotoneofthem.

He was glad that Eleanorrealised he had no intentionof being faithful to her, thathe was going to live like aking taking his pleasurewhere he would and that allhis subjects - be they hisQueen or his most humbleserving-man - must realisethat thiswas theKing’swayand none should dare

questionit.

Hecouldneverrestanywhereforlong.WhenhewasintheSouth he must wonder whatthepeopleof theNorthweredoing.Hehadmadeahabitoftravelling about the countrywithout warning which wayhewasgoing.Thismeantthateverywhere they must beprepared for him to descendon them at any moment and

woe betide any of themwhowere not carrying out hisorders. This habit wasapplauded by the ordinarypeople, who had seen theimmediate effect it had hadon law and order.No robberbaronnowdared tocarryouthis cruel tricks. The Kingwouldhearofitandhiswordwaslaw.

England rejoiced. It had astrongkingagain.Henrywas

determined to keep hiscountryrejoicing.

With great glee he haddiscovered that Eleanor waspregnant again. She haddeploredthefact.

‘What am I then?’ shedemanded.‘Ananimalwhosesole purpose in life is tobreed?’

‘It is the fate of women,’retortedHenrywithasmirk.

‘Itellyouthis.Ishallhavealongrestafterthisone.’

‘Threeboyswouldbeafairtally,’heconceded.

Shehated to seehim there- younger than she was, fullof health and vigour, off onhis travels again, looking foryoungandbeautifulgirlswhowould think it an honour tobeseducedbytheKingandifa child resulted from theirdalliance,well,whoknewthe

King might allow it to bebrought up in the royalnursery. Hadn’t he taken theharlot’s Geoffrey and donejustthat?

She hated him for beingfreeandyoung.

Itwaslikehimtoriseearlyin themorningandonly thenlet it be known that he wasready to start on hisperegrinations.What abustlethere was in the castle!

Servants would hastily risefrom their beds and thegrooms, bleary-eyed, wouldhurry to the stables. Thehorses themselves, catchingthemood,wouldgrowfrisky;the cooks and stewards andall the members of thedomestic household whotravelled with the Kingquickly gathered together thetools of their trades, for theKingwasonthemoveandhewasimpatientwithdelay.

Eleanor watched from herwindow.Theyfearedhim;yetthere was not one of themwho would wish to be leftbehind. His terrible ragesmade them tremble, but hisrough words of friendshipenrapturedthem.

She had to admitgrudginglythathewasindeedaking.Therehewasbawlinginstructions while they ranfrantically round him. There

was his bed being taken out.Who would share that withhim? she wondered angrily.Fresh straw in case it couldnot be procured on the way.His platters and his drinkingcups.Therewouldnotbeanygreat banquets, she thoughtruefully. His pleasure lay inthebedratherthanthetable.

He looked up and sawherat the window. He bowedironically.No regrets nowas

there used to be in the olddays. Then she would havebeen down there. She wouldhave begged him to returnquickly,tothinkofherasshewould of him. That waschanged. She knew himbetter. He had betrayedhimself as the lecherhewas.Hecouldnotevenbefaithfulin the days when they hadbeen at the height of theirpassion.

Let him go to his whoresand harlots. She was glad toberidofhim.

And he had dared dismissBernarddeVentadour.Why?Hadhereallybeenjealousashehadpretendedtobe?Therewas much that she did notunderstand about him.Perhaps that was why shecould not stop thinking ofhim.

And now here she was -

she,EleanorofAquitaine,theelegantladyofgoodtasteandculture, the patron of arts, awoman who must await thepleasure of the King’s visitsto her bed, which she wasbeginningtosuspectwereforthe sole purpose of gettingchildren. Was this theromance of which her poetshadsung?

There was consolation inher children, and particularly

Richard.

He was a wonderful boyandverysoontherewouldbeanother. It was not a yearsince his birth and here shewasheavywithachildagain.

She took Richard in herarms and put his smoothyoungfaceagainstherown.

‘The King has gone,Richard,’shesaid.

The child crowed with

delight as though heunderstood.

She laughed aloud andhugged him tightly. In thisfineboyshecould forgetherdisillusionwithherhusband.

ChapterVII

FAIRROSAMUND

Henry made his way toShropshire. On his accessionhehadorderedthedemolitionofanycastlewhichhadbeenerected as a stronghold fromwhich the pillaging of the

countryside took place. Thishad aroused the enmity ofmany of those who hadowned these castles andHenryknewthatifhedidnotcontinue to have the countrypatrolledeitherbyhimselforhis trusted friends thesecastles would be erectedagain.

Hehadheard that thiswaswhat was happening in thearea of Shropshire and the

newshadbeensenttohimbya certain Sir Walter Cliffordwho himself was having adisagreementwith the son ofone of the chieftains ofWales.

Henry therefore decidedthat he would make for SirWalter’s castle in Shropshireandsettlethisdispute.

When he arrived at thecastle he was welcomed bySirWalter who according to

custom came into thecourtyardtopresenthimwiththetraditionalgobletofwine,which he himself first tastedto assure the King that itcontained no poison, and hehimselfheldthestirrupwhiletheKingdismounted.

Then he led the King intothe castle hall where theClifford family were waitingto welcome him. He mustforgive their awkwardness,

whispered Sir Walter. Theywere overawed at theprospect of having the Kingundertheirroof.

There was the Cliffordfamily,LadyCliffordandherdaughters-sixofthem.Somewere married and theirhusbands stood behind them,buttheyoungestofthemtookthe King’s eyes for sheseemed to him the mostbeautiful girl he had ever

seen.

He paused before her andsaid, ‘You have a lovelydaughter,SirWalter.’

‘She will remember yourroyalcomplimentallher life,mylord.’

‘Nor shall I forget suchbeauty in a hurry. What areyoucalled,maiden?’

‘Rosamund,Sire.’

‘Rosamund,’ he mused.‘TheRoseoftheWorld,eh?’Then he passed on, and wasconducted to thebedchamberwhich was hastily beingpreparedforhim.

All the cooks in the castlewere set to work for eventhough the King’s eatinghabits were well known,everyoneofhishostswouldwanttoproducethebestfeastof which they were capable.

The King would expect iteven though he did notwishto over-eat. Everyacknowledgement of thehonourdonetothemmustbeclearlyshown.

A banquet was preparedandcarriedintothegreathall.Sir Walter gave up the headofthetabletohisroyalguestas he had done hisbedchamberforonly thebestinthehousewasgoodenough

fortheKing.ForonceHenrysatdowntoeatandhewasinamore thoughtfulmood thanwas usual. He commandedthat Sir Walter’s daughtershould sit beside him at thetable.

She came. He was struckfurther by the beauty of herfair complexion, and realisedhe was comparing it withEleanor’s darker one. Thisgirl was indeed rose-like, a

little fearful to have caughthis interest - which he likedin her - and yet eager toplease.

‘Why,’ said Henry fondly,‘Ineversawamaidenwhoselookspleasememore.’

He took her slender whitehand and held it in his for awhileandthenhelaidouthisown beside hers and laughedcomparingthem.

‘Thereyouseeahand,mychild, that holds the stringsthat lead a nation. A stronghand,Roseof theWorld,butnot so pretty a one as yours,eh?’

‘Itwouldnotberight,Sire,foryourhandtobeotherthanitis.’

‘The right answer,’ hecried. ‘You should alwaysthinkthusofyourKing.Heisright … whatever he is. Is

that what you think, myRose?’

‘Yes, Sire. ‘Tis true, is itnot?’

‘Your daughter pleasesme,’ said the King to SirWalter.‘Shehathararegraceandbeauty.’

He kept the girl with himduring theeveningandwhennightfellhesaidtoher:‘Hasteverhadalover,maiden?’

She blushed charminglyandsaidshehadnot.

‘Then this night you shallhave one and he shall be theKing.’

He stayed at the castle.Rosamund was enchanting.Shehadbeenavirginbutherfather had been willing thatshe should be given to theKing. Nor had Rosamundbeen reluctant; she must

rejoice that the King hadfoundhertohisliking.

SirWaltersoothedhiswifewhowouldhavewishedtheirdaughtertohavebeenfoundahusband that shemight settledown in respectablematrimony as her sisters haddone.

‘Nay,’ said Sir Walter,‘Rosamundwillbringgoodtoherselfandthefamily.Andifthere should be a child, the

King will care for it. Torefuse our daughter to theKingwould anger him.Theysayhisragesareterrible.’

‘We should have hiddenourdaughters.’

‘Nay, wife. Fret not.Naughtbutgoodwillcomeofthis.’

Rosamund was in lovewith the King. That aura ofpower had completely

bemused her. She was aninnocent girl and fearful thatshe lacked skills to pleasehim, but he told her that hervery innocence was at therootofhercharmforhim.

Hefounditdifficulttotearhimself away. He said: ‘Ishall always remember mystayatyourfather’scastle.’

‘I shall remember it too,’sheanswered.

‘You must not think of itsadly,’hereplied.

‘When you are gone Icould not be anything butsad.’

How charming she was.How different from Eleanor.Was that why he was soenamoured of her?Her greatquality was her gentleness,her acceptance of hismasculine superiority. Shewasnotwithouteducationbut

she lacked Eleanor’serudition;sheadoredhimandit was very pleasant for onewho was surrounded byadulation to sense thecomplete disinterestedness ofthisbeautifulgirl.

‘IwouldIneednotgo,’hesaid. ‘I would give a greatdeal to stay here and dallywithyou,mysweetRose.’

But theWelshwererising.He sent out an order that

every archer in Shropshiremust join his army and hewent into battle againstOwain Gwynnedd. Thefighting was desperate andthere were losses on bothsides.

He had heard how hisgrandfatherHenryIhadoftengone to Wales and how hehad loved a Welsh princessNesta,more it was said thanany other of his numerous

mistresses. Henry had oftengonetoWalestoseeher,andhisQueenwasthelasttohearof his infatuation with thatwoman. One of their sons,Henry after his father, wasfightingwiththemnowonhissideagainsttheWelsh.

During that battle Nesta’sson Henry was killed, andHenry the King came veryneartolosinghislife.Butforthebraveryofoneofhisloyal

soldiers he would have beenkilled,but themanhadstoodbetweenhimandhisassailantand had run his swordthroughtheWelshman’sheartbefore he could attack theKing.

This was violent warfareandtheKingwasdeterminedto subdue these Welshmen.Finally he succeeded indriving them back andfortifying several castle

strongholds. But he had toremindhimselfthatitwasnotWales alone that he mustdefend. He must return toLondon for how could heknow that while he wasengaged in Wales, troublewould not spring up in someothercornerofhisterritories?ThusithadalwaysbeensincethedaysoftheConqueror.

But firsthewouldspendalittle while with Rosamund.

He had been thinking of herwhen he was not bitterlyengaged in the battle. Otherwomen had lost their appealfor him, but desperately hewanted to see this beautifulgirlagain.

There was great rejoicinginthecastlewhenhearrived,and he exulted to see howpale Rosamund turned whenhe told the story of hisexploitsonthebattlefieldand

howbutforthebraveryofhismen - andone inparticular -hewould not be alive to tellthetale.

ThatnightwhenRosamundlaybesidehiminhisbedshetoldhimthatshebelievedshewastohavehischild.Hewasexultant.

‘Rosamund,’ he said, ‘Ilove you dearly. I am amanwhohasknownmanywomenbut have never loved - or

perhaps only once - any as Iloveyou.Thinknot thatourswill be a light relationshipand that you will see me nomore. I shall come back toyou…againandagain.’

She was trembling withdelight and he was morecharmed with her than ever.She did not beg or plead orask for favours either forherself or for her child. Shewas different from other

women, he was sure. Hethought of the demandinginsolence of Hikenai and ofEleanor’s arrogance. Thiswas indeed his Rose of theWorld.

‘Iwillfindaplaceforyouto live,’ he said, ‘and I willvisityouoften.Iwillbeyourhusband in all but name andyouwillhaveourchildthere.Wouldyoulikethat?’

‘IfIcouldbutseeyounow

and then I should live forthosetimesandthankGodforthem,’sheanswered.

‘I shall come whenever IhavetheopportunityandyoumaybesurethatIshallmakemany, for I am content withyou, Rosamund, and youshall be as my wife to me.Had I not already a wife Iwould defy all to marry youandyour child should bemylegitimateson…ordaughter.

But I have a wife, a jealouswife, and I would not wishher to know of yourexistence, for she is rich andpowerful and might do youharm.Havenofear though, Ishall protect you. I shall findforyouanabodewhichshallbea secretoneandonlyyouand Iwillknow that it ismyhaven of peace and joy forthereinwill livemyowntruewife.’

Hehadnotbeensurewhenhe had first left her that hewouldfeelashedidnow.Hemade promises easily andoften forgot them. ButRosamund was different. Hecould not forget her.Hewasas much in love with her ashe had been with Eleanor atthe beginning of theiracquaintance - more so forRosamund had no rich landsto offer him and he couldnever quite see Eleanor

withoutthegoldenshadowofAquitainebehindher.

He decided that he wouldfind a home for RosamundnearOxfordforhewasoftenin or near that town, andfinallyhechoseWoodstock.

Henry knew that there wasconstantlygoingtobetroubleinhisoverseaspossessions.Ifhe and Eleanor were inEngland then therewould be

trouble in Normandy orAnjou or Maine or evenAquitaine. Subjects did notcare that one land should beofmoremomenttotheirrulerthan another. He was firstKing of England. That washisgreatesttitle.HemustruleEngland, but he was alsoDuke ofNormandy,Duke ofAquitaine, Count of Anjouand Maine. Those monarchswho had preceded him hadhadthesamedifficulties.

Henry therefore lookedabouthimforsomemeansofmaking allies who couldstrengthen his position andthere was one man whosesupport could be of theutmost use to him. This wasLouis,theKingofFrance.

He was not sure how theKing would feel towards aman who had taken his wifebut perhaps since Louishimself was now married he

would no longer bearresentment against him. Inany case Louis was a king.Petty grievances must notstand in the way of Stateaffairs.

Louis had daughters. Oh,yes, he had two by Eleanor,MarieandAlix,andofcoursethere could be no alliancewith them.Buthealsohadadaughter by his secondmarriage and Henry saw no

reason why this girl shouldnot be affianced to his sonHenry.Atleasttherecouldbea betrothal. If he shoulddecide when the childrenwere older that he did notwish the marriage to goforward he would have nocompunction in cancelling it.But an alliance now whenthey were more or less intheir cradles - Henry wasthree, the girl one year -would be beneficial to both

him and Louis. But wouldLouisseethis?

Louiswasamanwhomhedespised - a weakling.Eleanor had told him muchabout Louis, and if he hadbeenaseagertokeepEleanoras she implied he had been,he must have been veryfoolish to let her go. Louiswould see reason if the casewas presented to him in therightmanner.

ItwasdifficultforHenrytogo to him and put theproposition before him. Theman who had displaced himwith Eleanor was hardly theone to come along with theproposition. He would sendan emissary. He knew theveryman.HisChancellor.Herespected that man as herespected no other in hiskingdom. He trustedLeicester and Richard deLuci, but Becket he admired

and had a real affection for.Becketheoftenthoughtofasa man of genius. For adelicate matter such as thismightprovetobe,hewastheman.

Hewould send for Becketand while he was in Francehe, Henry, would slip downto Woodstock where he washaving a bower built in awood, a haven where heplanned to install his fair

Rosamund and where theirchildshouldbeborn.

Henry never wasted time.AssoonastheideahadcometohimhesentforChancellorThomasBecket.

ChapterVIII

THERISEOFBECKET

ItwasnotonlytheKingwhohad a growing regard forThomasBecket.ThePrimateTheobald had recognised aquality in the man from the

momenthehadcomeintohisservice.

Thomas’s origins wereunusual. His father, Gilbert,had belonged to a family ofmerchants whose home hadbeen in Rouen but after theNorman invasion, like somanyofhiskind,hehadseengreater prospects in Englandand had come to settle inLondon.

DuringGilbert’schildhood

hehad lived in thevillageofThierceville and one of hischildhood playmates hadbeen a certainTheobaldwhohad always talked of hisdesire to go into theChurch.This he eventually did, byfirst entering a monastery,andlaterasherosetobecomeArchbishopofCanterburytheearly friendship had someinfluence on the life ofGilbert’sson.

Gilbert prospered in thecity of London and as hebecame one of its leadingcitizens he kept open housefor visiting noblemen whowere pleased to find a nightorso’sshelterunderhisroof.Therewasnoquestionof thehouse being an inn, butfavour was given for favour,and the fact that rich andinfluential people were oftenentertained at his housemeant that he was not the

loser and reaped rewards forhishospitality,andwithasonand two daughters Gilbertrealised how beneficial thiscouldbe.

Gilbert himself was aromantic figure. Some yearsbefore the birth of his eldestchild - his son Thomas - hehad, likesomanymenofhistimes, decided to make ajourneytotheHolyLandandhad set out with only one

servant,afaithfulmannamedRichard who had alwaysserved himwell. Aftermuchtribulation and manyhardships they reached theirdestination,hadprayedat thetomb of Christ and feelingpurged of their sins preparedto make their way back toEngland.

The homeward journeywas to prove even moreadventurousthantheoutward

one and they had not gonevery far when the party inwhich they travelled wassurrounded by a company ofSaracens, and Gilbert withRichardwastakenprisoner.

It was unfortunate for himthatheshouldhavefallenintothe hands of the EmirAmurath,whowassaidtobeone of the cruellest men ofhis race. He enjoyedmakingChristians his slaves but

when Gilbert and Richardwere brought before him hewas immediately struck byGilbert’s appearance. Therewasanobilityabout themanwhich was apparent to oneevenasalienasAmurathandhe could not help feelinginterestedinhim.

His first impulse was toheap additional humiliationson him but the manner inwhich Gilbert conducted

himself defeated him.Amurath was a lover ofbeauty of any kind andbecause of Gilbert’sexceptionalappearancehedidnot wish to maim it in anyway.Foraperiodhekepthimchained in a dungeon andattempted to forget him.Gilbert’sdignityhaditseffecton his jailers and he becamefriendly with them, learningtheir language, and becauseof his determination he did

thisquickly.

One day the Emir waslooking for amusement andsuddenly remembered theChristian slave. He doubtedhe was as handsome andindifferent now as he hadbeen on his arrival. He sentforhim.

To his amazement GilbertcouldspeakhislanguageandtheEmirwasimpressedwhenheheardthathehadlearnedit

from his jailers. Gilberthastened to explain that hisjailers had done nothing buttheir duty but he had alwaysbeen quick to pick up thelanguage of those about himand this was what hadhappened.

The Emir, in spite of hiscruelty, was a man of someculture,anddidnotcarehowGilbert had learned toconverse inhis language.All

he cared was that he could.He asked a good manyquestions as to what his lifewas like in London and hewas interested too in thedoctrines of the Christianfaith.

So entertained hadAmurath been that the nextday he sent for Gilbert oncemore and questioned him atgreater length about themanners and customs of the

Westernworld.

Gilbertwasdelightedtobereleased from his prison fortheseconversationalexerciseswhichwerebecomingahabit,and as the Emir wasfastidious in his tastes heordered that Gilbert shouldbathe and be given freshrobes. This was done, andnow it seemed that theymetas equals. A friendship wasspringing up between them

and theEmirdecided that hewouldpreferGilbertnottobetaken back to his cell but tobe given quarters in hispalace.

Gilbert then began to livethe life of a Saracennobleman. He still howeverfelt himself to be a prisonerand never far from his mindwasthethoughtofescape.Inhisnewpositionhecameintocontact with other Christians

ofhispartywhonowworkedasslavesinthepalace.Manyof them were chained abouttheir ankles just long enoughto enable them to walk butnot enough length to allowthem to go far. Others hadhaltersabouttheirnecks.Theone thought thatwas in theirminds was escape. AndGilbert, in spite of hisfavoured position, neverforgot them and was inconstant communicationwith

them in the hope of formingsomeplanfortheirrelease.

The fact that he was sofavoured was beneficial tothem all, for Gilbert coulddiscover a great deal aboutthe geography of the palaceand themost likelymeansofexit should the opportunityarise.

Moreover the Emir nowandthentookGilbertoutwithhimandtheywouldrideside

by side, surrounded by aguard, and soGilbert learneda good deal about thecountry.

HisfellowChristiansknewthat he was too religious aman to desert them. Hisrecentabsolutionat the tombhad cleansed him of all sin,and he would not want toincur another even if it werehis nature to do so, whichtheyweresureitwasnot.He

joined his fellows often inprayerandthegreatthemeofthoseprayers, asmustbe thecase with all prisoners, wasthat Divine guidance wouldleadthemtoescape.

As the weeks passed theEmir’s interest in his captivedid not wane. The morefluent Gilbert became themore profound were thediscussions, and one day asreward for such lively

entertainments the Emirinvited Gilbert to dine at histable.

This was to have amomentous effect onGilbert’s life because at thetable were members of theEmir’s family and amongthemhisyoungdaughter.

The girl was verybeautiful;aboveheryashmakher enormous eyes studiedGilbert. He was different

from any man she had everseen.His fair skin fascinatedher; his proud Normanbearingimpressedherdeeply.She had never seen anyonelike him. She curbed herexcitement for she knew thatit would never do for herfather to see it. What wouldhappenshecouldnotimagine- except that it could bedisastrous for her and forGilbert. She listened to hisvoice which was different

fromothersaswaseverythingelseabout,him;andwhenthemeal was over and theChristianandher fatherwentaway to sit and talk as theEmir loved to do, she retiredto her apartments which shesharedwith theotherwomenof the household and couldthink of nothing but thehandsomeChristian.

The Emir now made ahabitofinvitingGilberttohis

table and often his daughterwaspresent.Shewasnow inlovewiththestrangecaptive,and she was certain that shewould never know anyhappinesswithouthim.

What could she do? Shecould not tell her father. Shehad lived the lifeof agirl ofher people which meant thather life had been sheltered.Very soon a husband wouldbe found for her and she

would be given to himwhether she liked it or not.She was a girl of greatdetermination and shedecided that she must learnmore of this Christian faithfor which these men of theWestern world had left theircomfortablehomesandriskedso much. She knew thatGilbert came from a placecalledLondonwherehehadafinehouse.Hehaddescribedit to her father in her

presence.Yethehadleftittoriskhis life andperhaps facetorture - forGilberthadbeensingularly fortunate in fallinginto the hands of anenlightened man likeAmurath - and all for theChristianfaith.

Gilbert often went to prayin a small secluded chamberwhich the Emir had givenhimforthatpurpose;becausehe had become interested in

theChristianreligionthroughtheir discussions, he had nodesire toputany impedimentin the way of Gilbert’scontinuing to worship as hedidathome.

Thus Gilbert was allowedanhour’s seclusionwherehemightcommunewithGod.

To his surprise when heentered one day he saw thatthe rich arras which hungfrom thewallmovedslightly

and from behind it emergedtheEmir’sdaughter.

Gilbertwasamazed.

‘I did not know any washere,’ saidGilbert. ‘Iwill goatonce.’

Sheshookherhead.‘Stay,’shebegged.

‘Itwouldnotbepermitted,’said Gilbert preparing todepart.

Then she answered: ‘Iwould learn more of theChristianfaith.’

Gilbert looked at thisbeautiful girl and wanted tosavehersoulforChristianity.

‘Whatwouldyouknowofmyfaith?’heasked.

‘I would know why yourface shines when you speakof your God. I would knowwhyyou have no fear ofmy

father,whyyoutalkwithhimanddisagreewithhimasanyother of his servants wouldnotdare.’

‘I trust in my God,’ heanswered.‘IfitisHiswillHewill protect me. If my timehascomeIshallgotoeternalsalvation.That iswhy Ihavenofear.’

‘Tell me of eternalsalvation.’

He told her as it had beentaughttohimasachild.

‘Could I become aChristian?’sheasked.

‘Youcouldbybelieving.’

‘Icouldbelieve,’shesaid.

‘You will needinstruction.’

‘Youwillinstructme?’

He looked round theapartment. ‘Your father

wouldkillmeifhefoundyouherewithme.’

‘Butyouareafraid.’

‘No, I am not afraid.Something tells me that it isGod’s will that I shall saveyoursoulforhim.’

‘Whenyoucome topray Ishallbehere,’shesaid.‘Youwillinstructme.’

‘Thensobeit.’

Theyknelt togetherandhetaughthertopray.

Andthatwasabeginning.

Eachdaywhenhecametothe chamber she was there;shewasprogressingwithherstudyofhis religion.He toldher that she must have aChristian name and she wasdelighted. He called herMahault, a version ofMatilda.

‘Thatwas the nameof thewife of the greatest Normanwho conquered England andbrought a prosperity to boththat landand to theNormanslikemyself who now inhabitit,’hetoldher.

Shewasdelightedwithhernew name. She lived for hermeetings with Gilbert. Shewas a fervent Christian. Shetook wholeheartedly to thedoctrine of loving one’s

neighbour. Love was betterthanwar.She could see that.People suffered continuallyfor war and as a womanwhosegreatjoyinlifewouldbe her husband and children,how could she wish to losethem or see them suffer inthatsenselesspreoccupation.

Indeed she was a ferventChristian.

Often Gilbert wonderedwhathis fatewouldbe if the

Emir discovered that he hadmade his daughter into aChristian.

She would ply him withquestions.‘Christdiedonthecross for you,would you dieonthecrossforhim?’

Heansweredclearly:‘IamreadytodieforGod.’

‘It is true,’ she saidwonderingly,‘forifmyfatherknew that we had been

togetherthus,hemightdevisea horrible death for youwhich is even more terriblethan the crucifixion.Yet youhaveinstructedme.YouhavemadeaChristianofme.’

‘I have brought you to thelight,Mahault,’heanswered.‘AndifGodwillsthatthefatewhich befell His onlybegottenSonshouldovertakeme,thenItrustIshallmeetitwithfortitude.’

In worshipping Gilbert’sGod theEmir’sdaughterhadcometoworshipGilbertalso.

She said one day: ‘TheChristian slaves plan toescape.Iknowit.’

‘You cannot understandtheirtongue,’repliedGilbert.

‘No. But I see it in theireyes. Theymake their plans.Theywillattempttogo.’

‘Do you think they will

succeed?’

‘If they do not, I tremblefor them. Nevertheless theywill attempt it.’ She wasfearful suddenly. ‘Gilbert,what of you? If they shouldtry, would you go withthem?’

‘They are my people,’ heanswered.

‘If you shouldgo, Iwouldwish to go with you,’ she

said.

‘How could you do that,Mahault?’

‘Iftheslavescouldescape,socouldI.’

‘Nay.Youareyourfather’sdaughter.Thisisyourhome.’

‘IamaChristiannow.Myhome is across the seas inyourLondon.’

‘Nay,’ he said. ‘Nay, that

wouldneverdo.’

‘You could take me withyouwhenyougoaway.’

‘Howso?’

‘You could marry me. IcouldbeagoodChristianandmothertoyoursons.’

‘That is not possible. Youmust not think of suchmatters.’

‘Icannothelpmythoughts.

The slaves are planning toescape. You will go withthem and, Gilbert, I want tocometoo.’

‘Youcouldneverdoit.’

‘Then when you go …mustwesaygoodbye?’

‘If I were to go, we mustindeed.’

‘I never would,’ she saidfirmly.‘Iwillcomewithyou.When the slaves band

together and go away fromhere…or try to…. youwillgo with them, for you thinkmuchofyournativelandandyour home is in London.Gilbert, you cannot leavemehere because if you did Ishould die. I could not livewithoutyou.Youhavesavedmy soul and you must takemewithyou.’

He shookhisheadbut shewould not listen to his

protests and he said nomoreofthematter.

There came a time whenthelong-formedplansweretobe put into effect. Gilbertcouldarrangeforhorsestobewaiting for them in thestables for several of theChristians were workingthere. They could cut theirchains, and together discardtheirhaltersandgetaway…withGilbert’shelp.

It was dangerous andGilbert knew that if theattempt failed this would bean end of his pleasantrelationship with the Emir.Dire and terrible tormentswould await themall.But sogreat was their longing fortheir native land that therewas not a man among themwhodidnotwishtomaketheattempt.

WhenhewaswithMahault

in his sanctuary, Gilbert wastemptedtotellheroftheplanfor she couldbeof great usetothem,buthehesitated.Forhimselfhewouldhavetrustedher, but he had the lives ofothers to consider. He saidnothing.

The appointed night came.Inthestablesthehorsesweresaddled and ready. Gilberthad secreted implementsthere by which fetters could

be cut.Nonewas suspicious,and everything worked sosmoothly and according totheir plan that Gilbert wascertain that God was withthem.

Before their escape hadbeen discovered they weremiles from theEmir’spalaceandhadreachedapartof thecountry which was occupiedby Christians. They joinedwith them and were able to

proceed on the journey backtoEngland.

When she heard thatGilbert had escapedwith theother prisoners,Mahaultwasovercomewithgrief.Truehehad never promised to takeher with him, but he hadcertainly cared for her. Hadhe not risked death and evenmore than death to save hersoul?Hadherfathergivenhispermission they would have

married.Butherfatherwouldnever have consented to hisdaughter’s marrying aChristian.Howcouldhe?

But shewas aChristian, afervent Christian, and shevowed she would never beanything else. But now shehadlostGilbertandtherewasnothinginlifeshewantedbuthim.

She longed for death, forthat paradise which Gilbert

had promised her. It was allthatshecouldhopefor.

So ill did she become thatthe Emir could notunderstandwhatailedher.HewasangrywiththeChristianswho had escaped.Hemissedhis discussions with Gilbert.Lifehadbecomedullwithoutthatman.Heplungedintoanorgy of pleasure, living thesort of life he had livedbefore thecomingofGilbert,

but he found nothing couldgivehimthesamepleasureashe had enjoyed in hisdiscussions with theChristian.

As she lay in her bed, anideacametoMahault.

Gilbert had escaped. Whyshould not she? She hadlistened to his talk at tablewhenhehadgivenagraphicaccountofthejourneyhehadmade from London to the

HolyLand. Ifhecouldmakeajourneytohercountry,whyshouldshenotdosotohis?

As soon as this idea cameto her, her health began toimprove.Shewouldlieinbedwaiting for the return of herstrength while she made herplans.Sheknewthatwhatshewas about to do washazardous in the extreme; itwas a task which no otherSaracen girl had ever

undertaken.Butifshediedinthe attempt it would be noworse than waiting here inher father’s palace until shepined away for lack of anywishtolive.

‘Faith can work miracles.’That had been one of thedoctrines of Gilbert’s Godwho was now hers. Whyshould not faith work amiracleforher?

She grew well quickly; it

was amazing what her faithandherbeliefinthecertaintythat she would find Gilbertdid for her; and there camethedaywhenshewasready.

She had sewn preciousjewels into the humblestgarmentsshecouldfind,foritwas not difficult to get thesefrom her servants, and oneday she walked out of herfather’spalace.

The road was not often

frequented between theborders of her father’sterritory and that which wasoccupied by Christians andtaking greatest care to hideherselfwhenanypilgrimsdidpass, in due course shereached the borders of theChristiancountry.

Good fortune favoured herforasshewascrossing thoseborders she saw a group ofpeople, and something told

her from their looks andmanners that they wereGilbert’s countrymen andwomen.

She approached them andagain she was lucky for oneof them spoke her tongue.She told them the truth. Shehad become a Christian; shewished to escape to Englandwhere she could liveaccording to her faith. Buthowcouldshegetthere?

‘You could take ship,’ shewastold.

‘HowcouldIdothis?’

‘Ships leave now andthen,’ was the answer. ‘Weourselvesareawaitingone.’

‘I could pay for mypassage,’shetoldthem.

They considered her. Hergreat determination tosucceedshonefromhereyes;shebegged them tohelpher.

She must go to London, shesaid,fortherelivedamanshemustfind.

At length they agreed totake her. Her passage wouldbepaidforwithasapphireofgreat beauty and in themeantimeshemightjointheirparty.

She was not surprised atsuch amazing luck. Shebelievedthatasshehadaskedfor a miracle God would

answer her prayers, and itwasonlynaturalthatherwayshouldbemadeeasy.

The journey was eventfulas such journeys invariablywere.Theynarrowlyescapedbeingtakenbypirates-whichmight well have resulted inherbeingsoldintoslaverytoher own father - and thenthere was a mighty stormwhich almost wrecked theship.

She believed that hershining faith brought hersafelythrough,andverysoontheylandedatDover.

She knew two words inEnglish:LondonandGilbert.The first was of great usebecause it told everyonewhereshewantedtogo.

Shewalked from thecoastto the city, asking her waywith the one word Londonandfinallyshewasrewarded

byherglimpseofLondon.

She would have beenbewilderedbythegreatcityifshe had not been certain thatshe was nearing the end ofherquest.Therewasclamoursuchasshehadneverseen.Inthe streets were the marketstalls, with goods of allvarietydisplayed to theeyes.Everything that could beimaginedwas on sale there -bread, meat, clothing, milk,

butter and cheeses, usuallyeach with its separateneighbourhood. Milk andbutter and cheeses wereobtainableinMilkStreet,andmeat was for sale in SaintMartin le Grand near SaintPaul’s Cross. There wasBreadStreetwhere the smelloffreshbakedbreadfilledtheair. Goldsmiths andsilversmiths, clothiers andgrocers, they all had theirplacesintheselivelystreets.

At this time some fortythousand people lived in thecity and its environs. Peoplewere attracted to the citybecause of its immenseactivities and the gayer livesthat could be enjoyed therecompared with the quiet ofthecountry.Thereweremanychurches, built by theNormans, and the sound ofbells was a constant one. Itwas a bustling, teeming citysituatedonariverfullofcraft

plying their way up anddown; and the stream of theWalbrook divided the EastCheapfromtheWest.

Everywherewerebeggars-some pitiful to behold - andinto these streets came theEmir’s daughter, certainbecause of her faith in theChristianGodthatshewouldbeledtofindGilbert.

She went through thestreets calling Gilbert and

many took pity on her andgaveheranight’sshelter;andeach day she was sure thatshe would find the man shehadcometoseek.

Gilbert had reached Londonsomemonths earlier. He hadresumed his business and asbefore kept open house forvisitingfriends.Oneofthese,a Norman knight namedRicher de L’Aigle, aman of

someculture,ownedanestateinthecountry.

Richer always enjoyed hisvisits to London, largelybecause it meant a pleasanteveningortwospentwithhisold friend Gilbert Becket.They would talk into thenight and discuss manysubjects before Gilbertlighted his old friend to bedwithawaxencandle.

Richer had heard of

Gilbert’s adventures in theEmir’spalaceandwasalwaysinterested to talkabout them.Gilbert’s servant Richard,whohadbeenathismaster’sside through all that hadhappened, had also many ataletotellofthoseadventurestohisfellow-servants.

When Gilbert was tellingRichermoredetailsofhowhehad made the escape whichwould have seemed

impossible, he added that hebelievedonlyDivinehelphadbroughtthemhome.

‘During that perilousjourney,’ he said, ‘I made avow that if I could reachhome safely once more IwouldpayanothervisittotheHolyLandwithintenyears.’

‘So you will be goingagain.Donotexpectthesamelucknexttime.’

‘I shall wait for God toshow me His will,’ saidGilbert solemnly, ‘andwhatever it may be I shallacceptit.’

‘Still, perhaps it istempting Providence whenyouconsideryouhavedoneitonce and come safelythrough. Think of all thosewhoarelostontheway.’

They were talking thuswhen Richard burst in upon

them.

‘Master,’ he stammered, ‘Ihaveseen…Ihaveseen…’

‘Come,Richard,whathaveyouseen?’askedGilbert.

‘Aghostitappears,’putinRicher.

‘No, master. I have seentheEmir’sdaughter.’

‘What?’criedGilbert.

‘I had heard that a strange

womanwasinthestreet.Shewas calling “Gilbert”. Just“Gilbert” again and again. Iwent to look at her. Anapprentice told me she wasclosebyandthereshewas.’

‘The Emir’s daughter,Richard.Youaremistaken.’

‘Nay,master,Iwasnot,forshe saw me and she criedaloudwith joy, for she knewme. She remembered me inherfather’spalace.’

Gilbert had risen to hisfeet.

‘Youmusttakemetoher.’

‘She is here, master. Shefollowedme.’

Gilbert hurried from theroom and there standing inhis doorway was Mahault.Whenshesawhimshegaveacry of joy and fell on herkneesbeforehim.

He lifted her; he looked

intoher faceandhespoke toher inherown tonguewhichshehadnotheardforsolong.

‘Youcame…sofar.’

‘God guidedme,’ she saidsimply.

‘So … you hoped to findme.’

‘IknewIshould,ifitwereHiswillanditis.’

Richer de L’Aigle looked

on at the scene withamazement as Gilbert calledforhisservantstopreparehotfood.Shemustbehungry,hesaid, and she was footsoreandweary.

Shelaughedandweptwithhappiness. A miracle hadbrought her across terrifyinglandandseatoGilbert.

Heconsideredher.Shewasbeautiful, young and ardent.She loved the Christian faith

almost asmuch as she lovedGilbert. She was a livingexample of a soul that wassaved.

He could not keep her inhis house. That wassomething the proprietieswould not allow and Gilbertdid not know what he coulddo with her. There was agood and sober widow wholived close by and forwhomhehadbeen able to do some

favour. He went to her, toldher of his predicament andasked if she would take thestrange young woman underher care until somethingcould be settled. This sheagreed to do, and Gilbertconductedhertothewidow’shouse where he told her shemustwaitawhile.

Gilbert had friends in theChurchandhedecidedtoaskthe advice of some of its

membersas towhathecoulddo. There was in London atthe time a gathering of thebishops presided over by theBishop ofLondon, and sincethe Emir’s daughter was aninfidel andwouldbe sountilshewas baptised, the answertohispredicamentcouldwellcomefromtheChurch.

Beforethebishops,Gilbertrelatedhisadventure,andtheBishop of Chichester rose

suddenlyandspokeasthoughhewere inadream.Hesaid:‘ItisthehandofGodandnotof man which has broughtthis woman from so far acountry. She will bear a sonwhose labours and sanctitywill turn to the profit of theChurch and the glory ofGod.’

Thesewere strangewords,forGilberthadnotmentionedthethoughtofmarryingher-

although it had entered hishead. They sounded like aprophecy. Gilbert was thenfilled with a desire to marrytheEmir’sdaughterandhaveasonbyher.

‘It would be necessary,’said the Bishop of London,‘forhertobebaptised.Ifsheagreestothisthenyoushouldmarryher.’

Gilbert went to Mahaultand told her this. Her eyes

sparkled with happiness.Most joyfully would she bebaptised. She had come toEngland for this - and tomarryGilbert.

So they were married andvery soon she becamepregnant.Shewascertainthatshe would bear a son whowasdestinedforgreatness.

Thus before Thomas wasbornhehadmadehis impactontheworld.

The daughter of the Emir,nowbaptisedasMahault,wasthemostdevoutofChristians.She was the happiest ofwomen for God had shownher amiracle. She had askedandhadbeengiven.Shewasthe wife of Gilbert, a factwhich would have seemedimpossible while she was inher father’s palace. Here itwas themostnatural thing intheworld.Surelyamiracle.

And when very soon afterthe marriage she waspregnant,shewascertainthatshewasgoing tohavea son.TheBishopofChichesterhadprophesied this. God hadbrought her through greatdifficulties; she had made ajourney which many wouldhavesaidwasimpossible;shehadcometoastrangecountryknowing only two words:‘London’ and ‘Gilbert’. Thefirst was easy to find; and

God had brought her to thesecond.

Shebegan tohavevisions.Her son was going to be agreatman.ItwastobearthissonthatGodhadbroughtherhere. She dreamed of him;always she saw him in thosedreams surrounded by a softlight.HewouldbeaChristianand his life would bededicated to God. It seemedlikelythathewouldbeaman

oftheChurchandthehighestoffice in theChurchwas thatofanarchbishop.

‘Iknowmysonwillbeanarchbishop,’shesaid.

Gilbert was uneasy. Hewas no longer a man whocouldgowherehewould.Hehadawifeandsoonhewouldhaveachild.

She sensed his fears andaskedhimwhatailedhim.He

told her then that he hadmadeavowtoGodthatifhearrived home safely, hewould visit the Holy Landagainandhe feared thatnowhe had such responsibilitieshe would be unable to keephispromisetoGod.

She smiled at him. ‘YouhavemadeapromisetoGod,’she said, ‘and that promisemustbekept.Donotthinkofme. If Richard remains with

me,ashespeaksmytongue,Ishall be well enough; andsoon I shall speak English,forImustdososinceIamtocareformyson.’

Induecourseherchildwasborn.Itwasaboy,asshehadknownitwouldbe,andwhenthe midwife held him in herarms,Mahault heard a voicesay, ‘It is an archbishop weareholding.’

She could not ask the

midwife what she meant bythat because she could notmake herself understood, butlatersheaskedGilberttofindoutwhythewomanhadmadesucharemark.Themidwife’sanswerwas that shehadsaidnosuchthing.

The boy was called Thomasandhewas thedelightofhismother’s life. She was surethatnothingwastoogoodfor

him.Hiseducationmustbeofthe best. In the meantimesince Gilbert had made hispromise to God he shouldkeep it without delay forwhen the boy grew older hewould need a father morethanhedidwhenhewas tooyoungtorecognisehim.

So Gilbert went off to theHoly Land once more andMahault devoted herself tolooking after her son and

learningEnglish.

Her premonitions as to hisfuture greatness continued.One night she dreamed thatthe nurse had left the babywithout a quilt in his cradleand when she reproved her,the nurse replied: ‘But mylady, he is covered with abeautiful quilt.’ ‘Bring it tome here,’ she had answered,thinking to prove that thenursewasdeceivingher.The

nursecamewitha largequiltof a beautiful crimson cloth.She put it on her mistress’sbed and attempted to unfoldit, but themore sheunfoldedthe larger it grew, and theytook it to the largest room inthe house because itwas toobigtounfoldinasmallerone.Norcoulditbeunfoldedtheresotheytookitintothestreet.But they could not unfold itbecausethemoretheytriedtothebiggerthequiltgrew,and

suddenly it began to unfolditself and covered the streetandhousesaround them,andwent on and on, and theyknew it had reached the endoftheland.

Sheawokefromthisdreamwith the certainty that it hadespecial significance, whichwasthathersonThomaswasdestinedforgreatness.

Because she could not bethankfulenoughtotheGodof

her new religion who hadbroughthersafely toLondonthat she might bear this son,shewouldhavehimweighedoften and give to the poor aweight of clothes or foodequaltothatoftheboy.

She would talk to him oftheneedtobegoodandserveGod.andhowthiscouldbestbedonebycaringforothers.

‘Always help those poorerthan yourself, my little one,’

she would say. ‘That is agoodwaytoserveGod.’

Gilbert returnedafter threeandahalfyearstofindthatatthe age of four, youngThomaswasalreadyshowingsigns of great intelligence.Gilbertwasglad tobehome;he would make no morevows. Two trips to the HolyLand should be enough toplacate hisMaker for he hadneverbeenguiltyofanything

butthemostvenialsins.

HesoonbecameascertainasMahaultwasthattherewassomething special about theirson.

In the next few years theyhadtwomorechildren.Thesewere daughters, good brightpleasant girls, but Thomaswas apart from them. SirRicher de L’Aigle hadbecome an even morefrequent visitor than he had

beeninthepast.Hehadbeenfascinated by the account ofMahault’s determination tofind Gilbert; he declared hewould not have believed itpossible for a young womanto find herwaywith nothingmore to guide her than twowords.Hewasoftheopinionthat only Divine providencecould have brought her toGilbert and his interest intheirunusualsongrew.

As soon as Thomas wasoldenoughhisfatherputhimin the care of the Canons ofMerton towhommanywell-bornpeoplesentthesonstheyhoped would enter theChurch.

‘This would be but thebeginning,’ Gilbert confidedto his wife. ‘AfterwardsThomas must attend one ofthegreatseatsoflearning,butMerton is a good beginning

and it would mean that hewasnottoofarfromus.’

At Merton Thomas wassoon surprising his teachersbyhis ability to learn and soconfirming his parents’certaintythathewasdestinedfor a great future. It sohappened that during harvesttime when the great concernwas to bring in the corn, thepupilsofMertonweresenttotheirhomestogetthemoutof

the way, and during onesummer Richer de L’Aiglehappened to call on theBeckets. Finding Thomasthere, home from school, hesuggested that he take himwith him to his residence atPevensey Castle and thereinstilintohimthegraciousartof living like a nobleman.Thomas took to the lifewithasmuch eagerness as he hadtakentolearning.

Richer instructed him howto ride like a knight, how tohuntwithafalconandalltheaccomplishments whichcouldnothavebeenacquiredinhisLondonhome.

Sosuccessfulwasthisstayat Pevensey Castle and sofond had the young knightgrown of Thomas that theinvitationwasrepeatedoften.Mahault was delighted; shesawthechangeinherson.He

had become fastidious in hisdress; he spoke not only likeascholarbutlikeagentlemanandshebelievedthatGodhadsent Richer de L’Aigle intotheirlivesthatThomasmightbegroomedtotakeoneofthehighest positions in thecountry.

When Thomas wassufficiently educated to haveearned his own living doingclerical work for a merchant

of London, he left Merton,but his parents had plans forhim. The centre of learningwassaidtobeinParisandnoother place would be goodenough for Thomas. So toPariswentThomas.

There he perfected hisknowledge of the Frenchlanguage,hisgreataimbeingto speak it as a Frenchman;hiseasymanners - learnedatPevensey Castle - enabled

him tominglewithmembersof high society and he foundhe had a taste for theircompany.Noonewouldhaveguessed that the elegantThomas was the son of amerchant; and Thomas’sgreat ambition at this timewas toplayabrilliantpart intheworldwherehegainedtherespect of men and womenand lived in comfort andluxury.

When he returned toLondon he had the mannersof a nobleman although hewas educated far beyondmost of them; and althoughsheclung toherbelief in thedreams and portents whichshe swore had come to her,evenhismotherhadtoadmitthatThomasappearedtohaveno inclination towards theChurch. Instead he becameinterested in business andjoined the municipal

administration of London.Here his alert mindimmediately called attentionto him and many richmerchants who were friendsofhisfathersoughttogethimto join them in themanagement of theirbusinesses.

Mahaultwasnotdismayed,so certain was she of hisdestiny.Forseveralyearsshehad suffered during the

winter from a persistentcough, and the dampmist ofthe river after the dry sunnyclimateofhernativelandwashaving an ever-worseningeffect upon her health.Strangely enough one of herdaughtersshowedadesireforthe religious life and wasfoundaplace inaconventatBarking; the other married aLondonmerchant.Theywerehappily settled; the only onenotwasThomas.Thatwould

come,shewasconvinced.Sogreat was his destiny that hemust have experience ofmany ways of life before herealisedit.

He was twenty whenMahault died. He was withher at the end and on hiskneestoldherofhisloveandgratitude. She lay smiling athim thinking of the day shehadfirstseenGilbertandhadloved him and his God. She

would not have had itotherwise, for she believedthat everything that hadhappenedtoherhadbeenbutapreparationforThomas.

‘God has chosen you, myson,’ she said, her eyesglowing with prophecy. ‘IwasbroughtoutofmynativelandthatImightgivebirthtoyou.’

Andsoconvincingwasshethat Thomas believed her;

and afterwards in his mosttrying moments he wouldremember the conviction inthe eyes of his dyingmotherandabeliefinhimselfwouldcome to him, a belief whichrefusedtoacceptfailure.

Mahault’s death was thefirst blow. Without her thehousehold was a dull one.Gilbert seemed to lose heartin his business; Thomas wasdesolate. He no longer took

pleasure in following thepursuits he had learned atPevensey Castle. He knewthat he had delighted toomuchinbeingonequaltermswith the rich and well-born.He could think of little butthe loss hismother’s passinghad made in his life, and hereproached himself that hehad not realised what shemeanttohimuntilhehadlosther.

A fearful disaster struckGilbert when his house andbusiness premises wereburnedtotheground.Onceablaze started in the woodenstructuretherewaslittlehopeof stemming it. His lossesweregreat.Theshockof thisinadditiontohiswife’sdeathhad a deep effect onGilbert.He had lost too much, andwith it thewill to rebuildhisbusiness. Within a fewmonthshewasdead.

Thomaswasalone.

Hebecamemelancholy.Hegave up hunting and stayingat the houses of his friendswhointhepasthaddelightedin his company. It seemedthat he was adopting the lifeof a recluse when TheobaldtheArchbishopofCanterburyaskedhimtovisithim.

Theobald,who had playedwithGilbertwhen they livedin their Norman village, had

heard of Gilbert’s death andwished to renew hisacquaintance with Gilbert’sson.

Theymet,andtherewasanimmediate affection betweenthem.Theobaldwaslonelyinhis high office and saw inThomasthesonhehadneverhad.

To Theobald, Thomascould talk of his parents andTheobald listened intently.

Their minds were in tune.When Thomas visited theArchbishop, Theobald wasalwaysloathtolethimgoandthe visits became more andmorefrequent.

Then one day Theobaldsaid: ‘Thomas,come intomyhousehold. There is muchwork for you to do. I needsomeonewhowillworkwithme,whowillbeclose tome,whomIcantrust.’

Thomas hesitated. ‘ShouldIbestartingoutonacareerintheChurch?’heasked.

‘Whyshouldyounot?Youare fitted for it. Come,Thomas.Thinkofthis.’

For some time Thomasconsidered. Whither was hegoing?Heknewthat tillnowhehadbeenmarkingtime.Hethought of his mother’sdreams of the archbishop’squilt and he knew that he

mustgotoTheobald.

So when he was twenty-five years of age ThomasBecket joined the householdof the Archbishop ofCanterbury.

TheArchbishop’spalacewasa manor house situated atHarrow on the Hill. Here helivedinastatewhichbefittedhis position. His power wasgreat.Hewasmorethanhead

of the Church; he had thepower to select certainofficials of State; and hisauthoritywas second only tothat of the King. Theobaldwas rich, for he possessedmany castles and manorsthroughout the country, andfrom all over the worlddistinguished men came tovisithim.

Thomas, after theyears hehad spent working in

municipal affairs and in amerchant’s counting-house,was amazed at the life intowhich he felt he had beenthrust,andherealisedthathehadmuch to learn ifheweretotakehisplaceinit.

Theobald had a specialinterest in him and wascertain that in a few years’timeThomaswouldbereadyforahighoffice.At the timeof his arrival, however, he

lacked the learning of theclerics in the Archbishop’shousehold and immediatelysetaboutremedyingthat.Hisinnate elegance, his perfectmanners, the purity of hisexistence and his dedicationto learning soon won theadmirationof theArchbishopand those who wished himwell, but ambitious youngmen in the Archbishop’shousehold were beginning toregard Thomas with envious

eyes.

Why should ThomasBecket be specially favouredbytheArchbishop?WhowasThomasBecket?Thesonofamerchant!Andwhatwasthatrumour about a Saracenwoman?Was thismerchant’sson, this clerk, going to beput above them? There wasnodoubtthatthisyoungmanamong all those whom hegathered together in his

household in order that theyshould be prepared to playtheir part in theChurch,washisfavourite.

In the evenings when itwastoodarktoreadorstudythey would gather about theArchbishop’s table and theretalk of matters temporal andspiritual.TheArchbishopwasdeeply concerned withmatters of State and as therehad been continual strife in

thecountrysincethedeathofHenry I, politics werediscussedatgreatlength;andit was invariably theenormously tall dark-hairedman whose commentsimpressed the company. Itwasclear toeveryonethathewasanunusualman.Hisveryappearance set himapart.Hewassotall that therewasnotamaninthepalacewhocamewithin four inches of him.With his commanding

presence he would dominateanyscene.Noonecouldhavelooked less likeamanof theChurch. His dark eyesinherited from his motherwerekeenandbright;hisbignose was almost hawk-like.His frame was spare for heate very little andconsequently he felt the coldand had to wear manygarments. His servantRichard who had come withhim from his father’s house

madesurethatthelittleheatewas very nourishing, and hewouldcookbeefandchickenfor him. He feared Thomasmight become ill, and sinceheatesolittlehemustderivethe utmost goodness fromwhathedid.

This was Thomas Becketthen, a man who could notfail to be noticed; a man, itwas said, of comparativelyhumble origins whose

manners surpassed those ofthe most nobly born; a manwho was aesthetic andfastidious; a man who lovedto ride and take part in thepleasuresofhawkingandyetspentlonghoursonhisknees.Hehadneverbeenknown tocast lustful eyes on anymemberoftheoppositeorhisownsex.

There was no doubt thatThomas was a very

extraordinary man. TheArchbishop thought so andwatchinghimcloselymarkedhim for promotion, althoughthis would mean setting himabove otherswhoweremoreconventionallysuitable.

Among those who werestudying with Thomas underthe tuition of theArchbishopwasaverycleveryoungmannamed Roger de Pontl’Eveque. He had been the

brightest of all Theobald’spupils until Thomas hadcome. He was destined forthe highest posts; he was anexpert on canon law andbefore Thomas had eclipsedhim had been a greatfavourite with theArchbishop.

Roger was both arrogantand sensual, and he hatedThomas not only for hisbrillianceasascholarbutfor

the fact that he could not belured into any adventurewhich could have discreditedhimintheeyesofTheobald.

Roger himself had had avery narrow escape. Hiscareerasachurchmanofhighrank might have beenirrevocably ruined.The storywas that Roger had becomeenamoured of a veryhandsome boywhom he hadforced to submit to his lust.

The boy, Walter, hadcomplainedofthisandRogerwas brought to trial. Rogerwas a man of power withmany influential friends andby means of bribery andthreats had won his caseagainst the boy who in histurnwasaccusedoflyingandattempting to bring intodisrepute a highly respectedmember of the Church. Thebribed judge found that theboywasguilty;hiseyeswere

putoutandhewashanged.

Roger had escaped theconsequences of his ill-doingand had managed to deceivemany - including theArchbishop-intobelievinginhis innocence, but amongothers he was suspect. Heeven admitted to a few - insecret - that he had broughtdisgraceandcontemptontheChurch.

Roger was the chief of

Thomas’s enemies, and hedetermined to get himremoved from theArchbishop’s palace. ButThomas was fortunate in thefact that Theobald’s brotherWalter,whowasArchdeaconof Canterbury, had a faith inhis ability which nothingcould shake, and which waseven greater than that whichTheobaldhadforhim.

Roger, by reason of his

undeniable brilliance, was atthis time the leading scholaratHarrowandat theheadofthelineforpromotion,whichmeant that he was closer tothe Archbishop than any ofthe others. By cleverlypointingouttheunusualtraitsin Thomas’s character hecontrived to convinceTheobald that, clever asThomasmightbe,hewasnotof the kind to succeed in theChurch.

Theobald considered thisand for a time banishedThomasfromhispalace.TheArchbishop’s brotherWalter,however, took Thomas intohis home and kept him therefor a while until he couldpersuade Theobald to takeThomas back. This was anindicationofwhatapowerfulenemyThomashadinRoger,as he was banished on twooccasionsandwasobliged tostay with Walter until the

timewhenTheobaldcouldbepersuaded to ask him toreturn.

When Walter becameBishop of Rochester, Rogerreceived the appointment forwhichhewaswaitingandhebecame Archdeacon ofCanterbury.

WithRoger in such a postthiscouldhavemeanttheendof Thomas’s ambitions, butbythistimehewassofirmly

established in Theobald’sregard that nothing coulddislodge him. He was thenconstantly in thecompanyofthe Archbishop. WhenTheobald was at odds withthe Crown and wastemporarily exiled, ThomasaccompaniedhimtoFrance.

Therecame the timewhenKingStephendiedandHenryPlantagenet ascended thethrone. In the year 1154

RogerbecameArchbishopofYork which meant that thepost of Archdeacon ofCanterbury was vacant. ItseemedtoTheobaldthenthatno one could fit this postbetterthanThomasBecket.

That Henry had the makingsofagreatkingwasobvioustoall, but at the same time hewas a man of such violentpassion that Theobald felt

disturbed. To hold in checksuch a man was going to berather like taming a wildhorseanditwasclearthattheKing was of a temper tobrooknorestraint.

It had in the past beenalmost a habit with kings toquarrel with the Church.Theobald who had now andthen been in disagreementwith Stephen realised that itwould be a very different

matter to resist thewishesofHenry.

Theobald discussed thematterwithHenry,BishopofWinchester, brother of KingStephen,andoneof themostpowerful churchmen in thecountry.

‘The King,’ said Henry ofWinchester,‘needstobeheldin check and in such amanner that he will notrealise that the reins which

control him are there. Onlythe right sort of Chancellorcould manage this.We mustfind the right man. If we donot I see great troublebetweentheChurchandStateandwe shall find thatHenryPlantagenet is not the mildman my brother Stephenwas.’

‘That’s true,’ saidTheobald.‘Whatweneedisaman who can be a friend to

the King, who can persuadehimsubtlysothathewillnotknowheispersuaded.’

‘Do you know such aman?’ asked Henry ofWinchester.

Theobald was thoughtful;then a slow smile spreadacrosshisface.‘Yes,IthinkIdo.There ismyArchdeacon,ThomasBecket.’

‘Becket,’ mused the

Bishop. ‘A man of humbleorigins.’

‘A man who has risenabovehisorigins.YouwouldnotfindamaninallEnglandwho could please the Kingbetter.’

‘I fancy the King is notover-fond of those of ourprofession.’

‘Becketisunliketherestofus. I have often felt I should

reprove him for hisworldlinessandyetIknowheis the least worldly of men.He keeps a good table, yes,but that is for others; hehimself eats most frugally.Hisclothesareeleganceitselfandhekeepshawks,dogsandhorses; but he gives lavishlytothepoor.Heistheman.Hecould meet the King on hisown level. He could makesportwithhimandhuntwithhim; and the King has

momentswhenhe likesgoodconversation; he would havehis fill of that with Becket.Becket is theman.AmanoftheChurchwho isyetamanoftheworld.’

TheBishopwasinclinedtobe dubious but after he hadspent a little time withThomashe came to theviewthat the best thing forEngland and the Churchwould be to make Thomas

BecketitsChancellor.

Thus at the ageof thirty-fiveThomas was raised to thishighoffice.Hewasdelightedwith his new status, notbecause of the honours itbrought him but becausethere was so much in thecountry that he could putright.

For some years now thecivil war had been over but

during itmanymenwhohadlost their castles or humblerhomeshadbeendriventotheforest where they becameoutlaws and robbers. TheChancellor was determinedthat these men should behunted down and that theroads might be safe as theyhad been in the days ofWilliam the Conqueror andhis son Henry I; he wasanxiousthat thefieldsshouldbe tilled as they had been

before the beginning of thewar.Hewantedtobringbackjustice to the courts; heencouraged those whoconsidered themselves illdone by to bring theirgrievancestohim.

Any goodman determinedto bring justice to Englandcould have done this, butthere was something moreThomas could do. He couldcharm the King. Theobald

had told him that it wasbecause it was believed hehad thepower todo this thathe had been chosen for thistask. He could be amusing,witty and entertaining; and itwas his duty to amuse theKing. By becoming anintimatefriendoftheKinghewouldunderstandhismoods;he could guide him withoutthe King’s knowing he wasbeingguided.Hewasenoughofacourtiertobeperfectlyat

homeinroyalsociety;hehadlearned riding, hawking andchess at Pevensey Castle, sohewas at ease in theKing’scircle.Nonewouldknowthathe had not had the sameupbringing as any of theKing’scourtiersandtheKinghimselfforthatmatter.Itwasfor this reason that he hadbeenchosen.

Itwasremarkablyeasy.

‘Bring this churchman to

me,’ Henry had said, ‘that ImaytellhimI’llnothaveanychurchmanpreachtome.’

But when he saw themanhewas amazed.That strangequalitywhichcommandedtherespect of all men wasimmediately apparent to theKing. This tall elegant manwho could be witty andamusing, who could ridebeside him talking offrivolous court matters, who

could with the same easeplunge into a seriousconversation such asenthralledHenry,arousedhisinteresttosuchanextentthatoften when he was at agathering he would lookabout him and say: ‘Where’sBecket? Where’s myChancellor?’ And whenThomas was brought to himhe would laugh at him andsay, ‘Ha, Becket, I missedyou.Letusescapeandgooff

togetherwherewecantalk.’

Theobald and Henry ofWinchester watched thegrowingfriendshipofthetwoand congratulated themselvesonthewisdomofthatplanoftheirs to set up ThomasBecket as Chancellor so thathemightinfluencetheKing.

Henry was delighted. OneofThomas’s first actswas torefurbishtheKing’spalaceintheTowerofLondon.

Henry liked the work thatwas done there. ‘Why,Becket,’ he said, ‘I shouldhave thoughtasachurchmanyou would have thought ofsuccouring the poor ratherthanpamperingtheirKing.’

‘A pampered king ismorelikely to pamper his poorsubjectsthanonewhoissoillhoused that his temper isfrayed,’answeredThomas.

‘His temper frays, Becket,

wellhousedornot.’

‘Since he admits thisdoubtlesstimeandthehelpofGodwillimproveit.’

‘That fellow makes melaugh,’ said Henry of hisChancellor and he sawmoreand more of Thomas. Heshowed clearly that he likedhiscompany.

Thomas had not beenChancellor a year when

Henry declared: ‘I neverthoughttomakeafriendofachurchman, but I swear thisman seems to me the bestfriendIeverhad.’

He would call on himwithout warning. He wouldshout:‘Comeout,Becket.I’dhavespeechwithyou.’

Sometimes he sat anddrank wine with him. ItamusedhimthatBecketwitha sip or two could tell the

qualityofwineandtalkofit,but rarely drank muchhimself.

Henry liked to plague himwhileheadmiredhim.

‘A churchman,’ he wouldsay,‘yetyoulivelikeaking.’

‘Rather say a king liveslikeachurchman.’

Every day fresh rusheswerestrewnonhis floors;heusedgreenboughsinsummer

andhayinwinter;butitmustalwaysbefresh.

‘Yourcleanlinessisgreaterthan your godliness,’ pointedouttheKing.

‘Why should not the twogohandinhand,Sire?’askedBecket.

‘Is it meet for a man ofGod to display fine gold andsilverplateonhistable?’

‘If he puts them there for

loveofhisfriends,’answeredBecket.

TheKingwouldputanarmabout the Chancellor’sshoulders.‘OneofthesedaysI will show you for thecoxcomb you are,’ hemocked. ‘Lookatyour table;look at your home! Shouldyounotgooutintotheworldwithrodandscripandpreachreligion?’

‘I go out with the rod of

my office and preach ofjustice,’repliedThomas.

‘GoodThomas,youamuseme and for that I wouldforgiveyouallyoursins.’

‘Letushope,sire,thatthatother King who alone canpardon our sins is as lenientwithyou.’

And so they grew closertogether and hardly a daypassed when Becket was not

inthecompanyoftheKing.

ChapterIX

THEABBESSBRIDE

WhileEleanorwasawaitingthe birth of her child in thepalace andRosamundwas atWoodstock also awaiting theKing’s child, Henry sent for

Becket as he wished todiscusstheproposedmarriagebetween his son Henry andthelittlePrincessofFrance.

He was as usual delightedtoseetheChancellor.

‘I know not how you willfind the French King,’ saidHenry. ‘As you know theQueen was his wife and sherid herself of him to marryme.’

‘I know it well,’ saidBecket.

‘Hewas somewhat jealousIbelieve,and loath to let theQueengo,buttheQueenwasdetermined. She’s adetermined woman as youknowalso,Chancellor.’

‘I had gathered so,’answeredThomas.

‘Now this methinks is asituationwhichwillappealto

your humour as it appeals tomine. My son and theQueen’s son Henry shall bethe bridegroom of Louis’sdaughter by his secondmarriage.Doyouthinkthatisnotanamusingsituation?’

‘I think it a very suitableone, my lord, since it willsecurealliancewith theKingof France and little could bemorebeneficialtoyouatthistime.’

‘So thought I,’ said theKing. ‘It is years before themarriage can take place.Myson is three years old. ThePrincess Marguerite is one.But that will be noimpediment to the ceremonyas it would be to theconsummation. We shall notputthebabiestobedtogether…yet.’

‘Ishouldthinknot.’

‘Poor innocents! Still it is

thelotofroyalchildren.Youshould be thankful,Chancellor,thatyouwerenota royal boy or they mighthave married you when youwere in your cradle and thatwould not have been to yourliking,wouldit?’

‘I have never had anyfancyforthemarriagebond.’

‘Nay, you’re a strangeman, Becket. You carenothing for women which

seems strange to a man likemyselfwho cares verymuchforthem.Youknownotwhatyoumiss. It is a taste whichneverwearies. It is only thatone wishes now and then tochange one’s partner in thegame.’

‘The Queen would notwish to hear such sentimentsexpressed.’

‘Youareright,Becket.MyQueen is a woman of strong

opinions. You will have tomindyourstepwithher…asevenIdo.’

‘The Queen is one who isaccustomedtobeingobeyed.’

‘Indeed you speak thetruth. I have managed verywell during our life together.I always contrive to see thatshe is either going to have achild or having one. It is averygoodwayofcurbingherdesiretorule.’

‘It is not one which cancontinueforever.’

‘As the Queen tells me.She says when this one isborntheremustbearespite.’

‘It is better for her healththatthisshouldbeso.’

‘I am expecting a child inanotherquarter,Becket.’

‘Igrievetohearit,Sire.’

The King burst into loud

laughter and slapped Becketontheback.

‘Youknowfullwell thatakingwhocannotgetheirsisacursetothenation.’

‘Iknowitiswellforakingtogetlegitimateheirs.’

‘My grandfather used tosaythatitiswellforakingtohave children - inside andoutside wedlock, for thosewho are of royal blood will

beloyaltoit.’

‘It is not an infalliblerecipeforloyalty,sire.’

‘Ohcome,Becket,youaredetermined to reproachme. Iwon’t have it. Do you hearme?’

‘Ihearverywell,mylord.’

‘Then takeheed for if youoffend me I could turn youfromyouroffice.’

‘My lord must turn mefrom it if hewill and I shallpray that he finds another toserve him as well as Ishould.’

‘I never would, Thomas. Iknow it and for this I willstomach a little of yourpreaching.Butnot toomuch,man.Rememberit.’

‘Iwillremember,mylord.’

‘You have seen my fair

Rosamund,Becket.Isshenotbeautiful? More so in herpresentstatethanwhenIfirstsaw her. It surprises me thatmy feeling for her does notpall. I love the girl, Becket.You are silent. Why do youstand there with that smugexpression on your face?How dare you judge me,ThomasBecket!Areyoumykeeper?’

‘I amyourChancellor,my

lord.’

‘Not for long… if I wishit. Remember that, Becket.And if you are going to tellme that I should give upRosamund I amgoing to fallinto a temper, and you knowmytempers,Thomas.’

‘Iknowthemwell,Sire.’

‘They are not pleasant tobehold,Ibelieve.’

‘Thereyouspeaktruth,my

lord.’

‘Then itwouldbewell forthose around me not toprovoke them. I have settledher at Woodstock and I amhavingabowerbuiltthere.Ahouse in the forest …surrounded by a maze ofwhich only I shall know thesecret. What think you ofthat?’

‘Thatitisaplanworthyofyou,mylord.’

The King narrowed hiseyesandlaughedagain.

‘You amuseme, Thomas,’he said. ‘You stand injudgement.Youreproachme.You disapprove of me, butyou amuse me. For somereasonIhavechosentomakeyoumyfriend.’

‘IamalsoyourChancellor,Sire,’ said Becket. ‘Shall wediscuss the mission toFrance?’

For such a mission Thomascould display greatmagnificence without anyfeeling of shame. All thescarlet and gold trappingswhich he so much enjoyedcould be brought into playwithout any feeling of guilton his part because what hewas doing now was for theglory of England. He couldnot go into France like apauper.Duringhisjourneyhe

must impress all who beheldhim with the might andsplendourofEngland.

A troop of soldiersaccompanied the procession,besides butlers and stewardsand other servants of thehousehold; there weremembers of the nobilitywhowere to form part of theembassy, and of his ownhousehold he took twohundred horsemen. He had

brought dogs and birds aswell as twelve pack-horseswiththeirgrooms,andonthebackofeachhorsesatalong-tailed ape. The processionwas followed by wagonswhich carried Thomas’sclothes and others in whichwere stored the garments oftherestofthepartywithgiftswhich would be judiciallydistributed at the court ofFrance.And after thesewerelarger wagons one of which

wasfurnishedasachapelforThomas’s use, and anotherfor his bedchamber. In yetanother were utensils forcooking so that the partycould stop wherever wasdeemeddesirable.

As this magnificentcavalcade - the likeofwhichhadneverbeen seenbefore -passed through France,people came out of theirhousestowatchit.

‘Whatmanner ofman cantheKingofEnglandbe?’theyaskedeachother.‘Hemustbethe richest man in the worldsince this man, who is onlyhis Chancellor and servant,travelsinsuchstate.’

NewswasbroughttoLouisthattheChancellorwasonhisway and that themagnificence of his retinuehad startled everyone whohadseenit.Determinednotto

be outdone he gave ordersthatwhenthepartyarrivedinParisnomerchantwastosellhis goods to any member oftheEnglishparty.Francewastobehost to theEnglishandthey must have what theywouldandthereshouldbenoquestionoftheirpaying.

Thomas guessed that thismightbetheKing’swishandin order not to put himselfunder any obligation -which

might be detrimental to hismission-hesenthisservantsout secretly to buy anyprovisions they would need.He did however acceptlodgingsattheTemple.Therehekept a sumptuous tableofwhich all who came to seehimwereinvitedtopartake.

In the face of suchextravagance the Frenchcould only retaliate in kind.They must not be made to

look less hospitable, lesselegant, less generous thantheEnglish.

Louis received Thomaswith every honour. Howcould he refuse the hand ofhis daughter to the son of akingwhocametohiminsuchamanner?

He had at first beenuneasy. His little daughterMarguerite was but a yearold.Poorchild,howinnocent

shewas,unawareasyetastowhatthismissionmeant!Shewould in time go to theEnglish court there to bebrought up as the bride ofHenrywhowould,ifallwentwell, become the King ofEngland with littleMarguerite that country’sQueen.

Louis still thought ofEleanor and that state ofpassion to which she had

introducedhim.Hefearedhewould never forget her andevennowhewasremindedofhow she had left him, andalmost immediately herdivorce was secured hadmarried Henry Plantagenetwhose mistress she hadalreadybeen.

AndnowEleanor’ssonbyanotherman,andhisdaughterbyanotherwoman…

It was an unconventional

situationbutsuchtherewouldalwaysbewithawomanlikeEleanor. He wonderedwhether she often thought ofhim.

But thatwasaquestionhecould not ask the King’sChancellor. He must agreewithhisministers that itwasan alliance destined to bringgood to both countries. Itshould ensure peace betweenthemandpeacewaswhatthe

people desired more thananything.

The Chancellor in hismagnificence had delightedthe people of France. Louismade no objections to theproposed match. In fact hewelcomedit.

Thomas was well pleased.This important mission hadbeen achieved with theutmostsuccess.

In theminiature palace closeto his own atWoodstock theKing visited RosamundClifford. He was delightedwiththedwellinghehadbuiltfor her. He called itRosamund’sBower. Itwas afairy house and here shecould livesecludedwhile theroyal party was in residenceat the palace, and he couldslipawaytobewithherwiththe utmost ease. It hadamusedhimtocreateamaze

ofwhich only he,Rosamundand those who served her,should have the secret. Hehad not even confided thesecrettoThomas.Hewasnotentirely sure of Thomas. Hecould not understand a manwho was not interested insexual pleasurewithwomen.There were times when hesuspected Thomas ofindulginginsecretwhatothermen talked of openly. Healways hoped that one of

these days he would catchThomas.Thethoughtamusedhim. He often thought whatpleasure it would have beenfor him if he and Thomascould have gone outadventuring together. Thefact was there was noman’scompany he enjoyed more.Thomas’s love ofextravagancewasgreaterthanhis own for he was a plainman and hated wearing thegarments of royalty. In fact

he had, at the Easter churchceremonies,laidhiscrownonthe altar and sworn that hewouldneverwearitagain.

‘There it stands,’ he hadsaid, ‘as the sovereign’ssymbol. That symbol losesnothingbecauseitstandsinaplaceaswellguardedas it ison my head. Let no manmistake me. I am the King.ButIdonotneedacrowntomake me so. I stand here,

your King by right of birthand on the throne I shallremain, but I can serve mycountrybetterbymakingjustlawsanddefendingitfromallwhowould subdue it, by thepower ofmy strong arm andthe wisdom of mymind andthese can work better whennot hampered by a crownonmyhead.’

There he stood, this manwho was neither tall nor

short, whose hands werechapped with the wind; histunic short that he might theeasier move about, with hisunbounded energy, his fiercetemper which was terrifyingto behold and his completekingliness. He was right. Hedid not need a crown toproclaim him King ofEngland.Noman could lookathimanddoubtit.

And yet he came secretly

toWoodstock.Inhisheartheknew it was due to histendernessforRosamund.Hewantednoharmtobefallher.He wanted to keep her thepure and innocent girl shewas-thecompletecontrasttoEleanor. Perhaps he was alittle afraid of Eleanor. Hewouldnotadmitthatfear.Yetshe could be a schemingwoman and he could not besurewhat revenge shewouldtakeonhim.

It was because of Eleanorthat he wished to keep hisliaisonwithRosamundsecret.

He found her feeding theswans on the lake before thelittlepalace.

Shestoodupwithacryofpleasure when she saw him.She was noticeably pregnantand it occurred to him againthat she was even morebeautiful than when he hadfirst seen her. There was a

serenity about hercountenance.Shehadalreadythemotherlylook.

He took her hands andkissed them. ‘SomyRose isgladtoseeherKing.’

She nodded as though heremotion at beholding himwere so great she could nottrustherselftospeak.

Ashamed of his ownfeelings he touched her

stomach jocularly. ‘And theboy?’

‘Hefareswell.Butwhatifitshouldbeagirl?Itrustyouwillnotbedispleased.’

‘Nay, nay,’ he said, ‘I’llforgive her if she has onetenthofthecharmandbeautyofhermother.’

Armsabouteachothertheywentintothehouse.

There he stayed for the

night. It was idyllic, there tolivelikeasimpleman.Hedidnot delude himself intowishingthathehadbeenbornto such a life. He was tooenamoured of his kingship,butitwaspleasantforaspellto live simply under theadoring eyes of a belovedmistress.

Thomas should see menow, he thought. Perhaps hewould try to explain his

feelingstoThomas.

No, no.Not evenThomas.Nooneshouldknowhowthisbeautiful innocent girlaffectedhim.

The child would soon bebornandshewastohavethebestattention.

‘When I return fromFrance I’ll come and see thechild,’hetoldher.

The thought of his

departure to France alwaysupset her. She visualised allkindsofdangers.Shebeggedhimtotakecare.

He laughed at her, buttenderly. How could a kingtakecare?

‘It’s a peaceful mission. IgotoseeLouistomaketermsfor the marriage of my sonand his daughter. He hasalready agreed. My goodChancellorgothis agreement

and I go to seal the allianceandbringthechildawaywithme,for ifshe is tomarrymysonshemustbebroughtupinmykingdom.’

‘Poorchild!Poormother!’

‘Ah, Rosamund, bethankful that you are not aroyal mother. How muchhappieryouwillbewithyourchild in your little bowerawaiting the arrival of yourlordandmaster.AndIswear

to you that he will come toyou whenever it is possibleforhimtodosoandthischildyou carry shall have greathonoursandneverregret,ifIcan help it, the day theKingseteyesonthefairestRoseinalltheworld.’

Helefthercontentwithherlot; her only anxiety whatdangers hemight face acrossthesea.

What joy to be with one

whoselovewasselfless,whoasked nothing, no honours -exceptperhapsfortheirchild- nothing for herself! Sheprayednot forherselfbut forhimandthechild.

He thought: Had she beenmywife,Iwouldhavebeenahappierman.

How different was Eleanor.HewouldbegoingtoFranceandshemustperforcestayin

England because she wasoncemorewithchild.

‘Ipromiseyou,’sheraved,‘there shall be no more ofthis. Since I married you ithas been one child afteranother.’

‘You have a fine nurseryfull,myQueen,’ saidHenry.‘Therearemanyqueenswhohave prayed and made theirpilgrimages in the hope ofgetting one son. You have

twoandwhoknows thenextwhich I have kindlyimplantedinyoumaywellbeanother boy. Think of it.Threeboysinyournursery!’

‘Not to mention the littlebastard you have brought tous.’

‘Young Geoffrey. Howfareshe?’

‘I do not make it myconcerntodiscover.’

‘You’re a jealous woman,Eleanor.’

She did not answer. Shewould never forgive him forthat bastard son. While shehad been in love with him -andthoughtconstantlyofhim- he had been sporting withother women and cared somuch for this one it seemedthat when she produced achild he brought it into thenursery.

‘Whatwould I not give tobecrossingtheseawithyou.’

‘I am flattered that you somuchenjoymycompany.’

‘It is not you Iwish to bewith,’shesaid.‘Iwishtoseemy own fair land ofAquitaine.’

‘That you might sit in thegardens and surroundyourself with soft-eyedsingerswholaudyourcharms

andpretendtobeinlovewithyou?’

‘Why should theypretend?’

‘Becauseyouarenolongeryoung and the bearing ofchildren does not beautify awomanbutaddstoheryears.They would feign to set youupastheQueenofLove.Andwhy? Because you are theQueen of England, that iswhy.’

‘Have done,’ she said.‘When this child is born Ishall go once more toAquitaine.’

He nodded, smilingderisively at her, but histhoughtswerefarawayinthebowerofhisfairRosamund.

SoonafterwardsheleftforFrance.

A message came from his

mother. She wished him tocall atNanteswhere shewasstaying with his brotherGeoffrey.

Matilda met her son withthe pleasure she alwaysshowed on seeing him. Theyembraced and she looked athimanxiously.

‘Howfares it inEngland?’shewantedtoknow.

‘All iswell. Ihaveleft the

governmentincapablehands.I have the best man in theworld for Chancellor. AndEleanorknowshowtorule.’

‘It was a good marriage,’saidMatilda.

Henrygrimaced. ‘She’s anoverbearingwoman.’

Matildacouldfindnofaultwith that.Noonecouldhavebeen more overbearing thanherself.

‘I wished you to comehere,’ she said, ‘because ofGeoffrey.’

‘Geoffrey again! Notplotting against me oncemore?’

‘Geoffrey will never plotagainstyouagain.’

‘You are hoping for amiracle.’

‘Nay, my son. Yourbrother Geoffrey is

grievously sick. I fancy hewill never leave his bedagain.’

‘Geoffrey … but he is soyoung!’

‘Death strikes down theyoungaswellastheold.Youmust make sure you losenothingbyhisdeath.’

‘His death! You cannotmeanthis!’

‘Youshallseeforyourself.

Iwishedtoprepareyou.’

ShewentwithhimintothechamberwhereGeoffreylay.

‘Geoffrey, my son,’ shesaid,‘yourbrotherishere.’

Geoffrey smiled wryly.‘The King of England,’ hemuttered.

‘Iamhere,’saidHenry.Heknelt by the bed and lookedanxiously into his brother’sface. ‘What ails you,

Geoffrey?’

‘Mytimehascome.Itwasashortstay,wasitnot?’

‘Nay,you’llrecover.’

‘Isthatacommand?’

‘You should take it assuch.’

‘You always wanted tocommand us all. But youcannot command Death,brother.’

‘You talk nonsense. Youwillrecover.’

‘I think not. So you ruleEngland now as well asNormandywhichwastohavebeenmine.’

‘I paid you for it,remember?’

‘I remember your promiseto payme a pension. I don’trecallreceivingmuchofit.’

‘Therearemanycallsona

king’spurse.’

‘Iknow, Iknow.And it isofnomomentnow.’

‘YouhadBrittany.Yougotthatbymygoodgraces.’

‘For which I must begrateful. Were not the dogsgratefulforthecrumbswhichfell from the rich man’stable?’

‘They were indeed, but Iwas never a rich man,

brother,andyouneveradog.’

‘Not with England andNormandy and … what elseis it, brother? I’ll swear nowitwillbeBrittany.’

‘Geoffrey, let us befriends.’

Geoffrey smiled and heldout his hand. ‘It is alwaysgood to be friends with adying man. Fear not that Ishouldeverseektohauntyou

with reproaches, brother. Iwas alwaysproud tobeyourbrother. You were ourmother’sfavourite.Shelovedyou.Youmusthavehadveryspecial qualities to be lovedby her.’ He smiled. ‘Do yourememberhowshehatedourfather?’

Henrybowedhishead.

‘Andheisdeadnow.AndIshall soon follow him. Youwill go on and on to greater

glory,Henry. Itwas good ofyoutocometomydeathbed.Or did you come forBrittany?’

Henrylookedathisbrotherwith sorrowing eyes.Hewasthinking of how they hadplayed together in theiryouth; but he was alsothinking of Brittany. Howcould he help it? The DukesofNormandyhadalwayslaidcovetouseyesonit.Hecould

bring up the matter when hesawLouis.

He did not talk of thesematters toGeoffrey.He triedto soothe him. He talked alittleoftheirboyhoodbutthecontinual conflict betweentheir parents had not madethataveryhappytime.

OnahotJulydayGeoffreydied. Looking down at thestillfaceofhisbrotherHenrycouldnotbelievethathewas

gone.Hefelttearsinhiseyesandwishedthattheyhadbeenbetterfriends.

But almost immediatelycame news that Conan ofBrittany, the son of thedisplaced Duke, wasmarchingtowardsNantes.

Henry immediately setabout gathering together hisforces. He left his army tostand against any invadersandwentontoPariswherehe

wasdeterminedtogetLouis’sagreementthatheshouldholdBrittany.

Louis receivedHenrywithall the honours possible. HisQueen joined with him.Constancewasanxioustoseethe man whom Louis’s firstwife hadmarried. She foundhim bold, a little coarse insome ways, but a man ofgreat strengthandshe sawatonce thathewas incomplete

contrasttoLouis.

Unlike Thomas Becket,HenryenteredPariswithoutagreat show of magnificence.He had left the best of hisarmybehindtoholdBrittany,inanycase,andashewastheKingofEnglandandDukeofNormandy, ruler over agreaterterritorythantheKingofFrance,hehadnoneed toproclaimwhatwasobvious.

The two men took their

measure.Itwassixyearsagothat Eleanor had shown herpreference by marryingHenry. Louis had recoveredfromthehumiliationnowandhad a new Queen; as forHenryhispassionforEleanorwasfastdyingandanycausefor resentment against eachother seemed to havedwindledaway.

Theywouldneverbeclosefriends. They were two

different types. Louis hadarranged special churchservices which he thoughtwouldpleasehisguest.Henrywould have preferred to seemoreofhowthepeoplelived,how they reacted to the lawsof their land; he would haveliked to meet some of thebeautiful women of France.Buthehadcomeonamissionand itwas imperative thatheconclude it with satisfaction.Theconferencesbegan.Louis

would support Henry inBrittany; he would give thebabyMargueriteasherdowrythe much disputed Vexin,whichwas on the borders ofNormandy and the Ile deFrance. This was the bufferstate between those two andpossession of it meant acertain security forNormandy.

It was a very satisfactorymeetingandwhenHenry left

Parishebroughtwithhimthebaby Marguerite whom hewould take to England to bebroughtupashisdaughter.

Evenmoresatisfactorywasthe fact that when Conan ofBrittanysawtheforcesoftheDukeofNormandyandKingof England he changed hismind about standing outagainst him, and he decidedthat he must try to makepeace. Henry shrewdly

agreed to do so and evencompromised by makingConan Duke of Brittany,providing he recognisedhimself as a vassal of theDukeofNormandyandKingof England. This Conanagreed to; and at the publicceremony swore that hewould serve Henry with hislife.

While this was happeningHenryreceivedtwomessages

fromEngland.

Hiswifehadgivenbirthtoanother son. She had calledhimGeoffreyaftertheKing’sdeadbrotherandfather.

Henry smiled ruefully. SotherewouldbetwoGeoffreysinthenurserynow.Hecouldpicture the elder one beingknown as Geoffrey theBastard. That would be asEleanor wanted it. Was thatwhyshehadchosenthesame

nameforherownson?

The other piece of newswas that Rosamund had alsoborne a son. She had calledhimWilliam.

Henry was pleased. Helongedtoseehischildrenandmost of all he longed to seeRosamund.

Before Henry reachedEngland he received news of

another death, which was alittledisconcerting.Itwasnotthat he cared greatly for theman who had died; but hispassingwasofsomepoliticalsignificance for he was theson of King Stephen. Henryhad reason to be grateful tothis man, for had he beenambitioushemighthave laidclaim to the thronewhich astheonly surviving sonof thelateKingwouldhaveseemedtosomeareasonablethingto

have done.William howeverwas not ambitious; he hadhad no desire to build up anarmy and go to war againstHenryPlantagenet.Moreoverhewaswiseenoughtorealisethat the people of Englandconsidered Henry the trueheir and would have flockedtohissupport.

William had been verycontent to stand aside forHenryandbecometheCount

of Boulogne, which title heinherited through his motherand there was no one whocould say he had no right tothis. Boulogne, however,through its connection withtheCrownwas avassal stateof England. Henry had beenpleased with the state ofaffairs, for Boulogne underWilliam, who was withoutambition, had caused him noanxiety, but when Williamdied, Henry realised that it

would be necessary to takeimmediate action to keepBoulogne as it had been, avassal of England andNormandy.

He had no desire to makewar - which was never wisewhen the matter could beresolved in any other way.And there was another way.Stephen had also had adaughter,Mary,whoearly inher life had decided on a

religiouscareerandwasnowtheAbbessoftheConventofRomsey.

Henry acted promptly. Hecommanded her to come tohim without delay. Thestartled Abbess protested tothemessengerwhoarrivedatRomsey with the King’scommand, but she was toldthatthiswasanorderwhichitwould be treason to disobey.She had visions of her

convent being laid to waste,her nuns dispersed, for theKing was ruthless enough totake such action, and as thedaughterof the lateKingshewas in a precarious position.She knew that William, herrecently dead brother, haddecidedtogetoutofEnglandfor he had felt that it wouldbe unwise for him to staythere as the only legitimateson of the late King whentherewasanewKingon the

throne.

Bewildered, the Abbesstravelled to Normandy andthere she was met by Henrywho told her that he had abridegroom for her and shewas to prepare to marrywithoutdelay.

‘Mylord,’shecriedaghast,‘how can I marry? I havetaken my religious vows. IamAbbessofRomsey.’

‘Youwere,’ said the Kingtestily.‘Butyouarenolongerso.’

‘How can that be when Ihave taken my vows? Nonebut thePopewouldgrantmydispensation.’

‘Leave that to me,’ saidHenry.

‘Iamafraid,mylord…’

‘Afraid,’ thunderedHenry.‘You’re to marry and that is

mycommand.’

‘I do not understand.Whowouldwishtomarryme?’

‘My cousin Matthewwishestomarryyou,Madam,because I have said heshould.Heknowsbetter thantodisobeyme.’

‘But…forwhatpurpose?Iamnotofanage…’

‘YouareofanagetoobeyyourKing.Whenyoumarry,

Boulogne shall be yours andMatthew will be the newCountofBoulogne.’

Now itwas clear.Williamhad died and Henry fearedsome enemy might takeBoulogne. Itmust be kept inthefamily.

Shesaid:‘Imustappeal tothePope.’

Henry narrowed his eyesandthecolourflamedintohis

face.

‘Think not that I lackinfluenceinthatdirection,’hesaid.

He dismissed her and shewent immediately toThomasBecket, who had joined theKing’sparty.

When she told him whathad happened he washorrified.TheKing,whohadknown what his attitude

wouldbe,hadsaidnothingtohim. But Thomas was notafraidofoffendingtheKing.

‘The Pope will standbeside you,’ Thomascomforted Mary. ‘You havetakenyourvows.Theycannotbethrustasideasthoughtheyhad never been taken just tosuittheKing’sambitions.’

‘What must I do ?’ askedthebewilderedAbbess.

‘You have told the Kingyou will appeal to the Pope.You must do so withoutdelay.’

‘Will you help me, myLordChancellor?’

‘Iwill despatch amessageto the Pope without delay,’saidThomas.

When the King knew whatThomas had done he was

furious. He strode into theChancellor’s apartments, hiseyeswild,hisfacescarlet,histawny hair on end so that helookedmorelikearaginglionthanever.

‘So, Master Becket, youhave decided to take thecrown! It is you who ruleEngland and Normandythen?’

Thomas looked at himcalmly.

‘It is this matter of theAbbess which grieves you,mylord.’

‘Grieves me! I tell you Iam so wild with fury that Imyself would hold theburningironthatshallputoutthosehaughtyeyes.’

‘Soyouhavesentencedmewithouthearingmycase.’

‘IamyourKing,Becket.’

‘Iknowitwell,mylord.’

‘Andyoufearnot toangerme?’

‘I fear only to do what Iknowtobewrong.’

‘Soyouarejudgingus,areyou? You, Thomas Becket,clerk of the counting-house,wouldjudgeyourKing!’

‘ItisonlyGodwhowilldothat,mylord.’

‘You and your piety! Youmakeme sick, Thomas. You

areamanandposingalwaysasasaint.OneofthesedaysIshall catch you out. How Ilook forward to that! And ifyou value your life you willwithdraw your request to thePopeonaccountofStephen’sdaughter.’

‘IhavesenthercasetothePope with her consent, mylord.’

‘Know this. There is noone who gives consent here

buttheKing.’

‘Thereisahigherpower.’

‘YouwouldservethePopethen … rather than yourKing?’

‘I would serve the right,mylord.’

The King’s fury abated alittle. It was strange how hefounditdifficulttokeepupaquarrelwithThomas.

‘Don’t be a fool, Thomas.Would you have me loseBoulogne?’

‘IfGodwillsit.’

‘Have done with this talkof God. I have never knownHim go into battle with mygrandfather or my great-grandfather.’

‘They asked help many atimeIdoubtnot.’

‘His help maybe but they

did not sit andwait for Himto make their conquests. Ifthey had, they would havewaited a long time. I am notgoing to lose Boulogne. If Idid, what would happen?What if it fell into the handsof some evil lord who knewnot how to govern? Nay,Thomas, you’re a chancellornot a priest. Forget yourcleric’s robes. I can takeBoulogne with the utmostease through thismarriage. It

will save war and conflict.And all because a nun isasked to relinquish her vowsandtakeahusband.’

‘Itiswrong.’

‘Havedone.’

‘Nay,mylord,Icannot.’

‘Sendanothermessengertothe Pope. Tell him that thelady has consented to themarriage. Let it be knownthatyouaskfornobarriersto

be put in the way of thismatch.’

‘Icannotdoit,mylord.’

The King’s face wassuffusedwithblood.He tooka step towards Thomas, hishand raised to strike him.Thomasstood impassive.Fora fewsecondsHenry seemedas though he would fall onthe Chancellor and tear himapart or at least call to hisguards to arrest the

Chancellor. His eyes, wildwith rage, looked intoThomas’s cool ones, andsuddenly he turned andpicking up a stool threw itagainstthewall.

‘I am defied,’ he cried.‘Defied by those whom Ihave befriended. They workagainstmeinsecret.ByGod,I’llberevenged.’

Thomas said nothing. Hestoodthere,thenwithacryof

rage the King threw himselfon the floor and seizing ahandful of rushes gnawedtheminhisrage.

Thomas went out and lefthim.

HehadseenHenryinsucha rage that he could notcontrol his temper on one ortwooccasions,but that angerhad never been directedagainsthimbefore.

Hewaited for what wouldhappennext.

There was a message fromthe Pope. He had receivednewsfromboththeKingandtheChancellorconcerningtheAbbess of Romsey. PopeAlexander was in a veryuneasyposition.Hehadbeenelectedattheconclaveaveryshort time before and therehadbeencertainoppositionto

his taking the papal crown.As that opposition wasbacked by the EmperorBarbarossa, he did not feelthatthepapalcrownwasverysecure.

HedarednotoffendHenryPlantagenetwhowasnotonlyKing of England but fastbecoming the most powerfulman in France. The fact thatthe King’s Chancellordiffered from his master and

was in the right was a veryspecial reason for giving theKingwhathewanted,forthefact that one of his servantswas against him and hehimself was in the wrongwouldmake theKingdoublyangry if the Pope sidedagainst him. ThereforeAlexander granted thedispensation. When hereceived it the King roaredwith gratified laughter. Thefirst thinghedidwastosend

forThomasBecket.

‘Ha!’ he cried, when hisChancellor stood before him.‘Have you heard from yourfriendthePope,Thomas?’

‘No,my lord.Perchance itisearlyyet.’

‘Not too early for me tohavereceivedareply.He’sawise fellow, Thomas. Wiserthan you, my godlyChancellor. I have the

dispensationhere.’

Henrywas gratified to seeThomasturnashadepaler.

‘Itcannotbe.’

‘Seeforyourself.’

‘But…’

Henry gave hisChancelloranaffectionatepush.

‘How could he dootherwise?Hisstateisnottoohappy. Why, Thomas, you

shouldstudyhisways.Ifyoudo not, you could mortallyoffend those who could doyou harm. Sometimes it isbettertoservethemthanwhatyoucalltheright.Oh,youdonotbelieveme?Strangeas itmay seem I like you for it.But I have the dispensationand our bashful Abbess willsoon find herself in themarriage bed and I shall stillhavecontroloverBoulogne.’

Thomaswas silent and theKing went on: ‘Come,Thomas, applaud my skill.Wasitnotagoodmove,eh?’

Thomaswasstillsilent.

‘And what shall I do withmy Chancellor who dared togoagainstmywishes?Icouldsend him to a dungeon. Icouldputouthiseyes.Ifancythat would hurt you most. Itdoes most men. To be shutaway from the light of the

sun, never to see again thegreen fields. Ah, Thomas,what a fool you were tooffendyourKing.’

‘You will do with me asyouwill.’

‘I am a softman at times.Are you not my friend? Icould have had you killed,and looked on and seen itdone with pleasure. Butmethinks had I done so Ishould never have known a

moment’s peace after. It isgood tohave friends. I knowthat you are mine and thatyoudointruthserveonlyonewith greater zeal and that isGod or Truth, orRighteousness…call itwhatyouwill. I likeyou,Thomas.Know this. If you are myfriend,Iamyours.’

Then theKingputhisarmthrough that of ThomasBecket and together they

wentoutofthechamber.

The friendship between themwasgreaterthanever.

When Henry returned toEngland the two wereconstantlytogetheranditwasnoted that Henry found thesociety of his Chancellormore rewarding than that ofany other person. The riftbetween himself and Eleanorhad widened. She had never

forgivenhimforbringingthebastard Geoffrey into theroyalnurseriesandhetauntedher by making much of theboy.Helikedtoescapetothedomestic peace ofWoodstock. His love forRosamund did not diminish.Perhaps this was due to thefact that she made nodemands. She was alwaysgentle and loving, alwaysbeautiful.Theyhadtheirlittleson, too, and she was

pregnantoncemore.Shegaveto him the cosy domesticitywhich kings can so rarelyenjoy, and he delighted inkeeping her existence asecret; and none but herservants knew that he visitedher and they realised that itwould go ill with them ifthrough them the secret wasdivulged.

The King was happy. Hiskingdom was comparatively

peaceful.Hewaswatchful,ofcourse, but then he wouldalwayshave tobe that.Foratimehecouldstaypeacefullyin England, and he couldenjoythecompanyofhisbestfriend,ThomasBecket.

Sometimes he askedhimself why he loved thisman. There could not havebeen one more different.Even in appearance theypresentedacontrast.Talland

elegant Thomas, the stocky,carelessly dressed King.Thomas’sloveoffineclothesamusedHenry.Heteasedhimabout it constantly. Whyshould he, the all-powerfulKingwhocouldhavechosenthe most nobly born in hiskingdom to be hiscompanions,careonlyforthesociety of thisman? Thomaswas fifteen years older thanhewas.Anoldman!Somuchthat Thomas believed in the

King disagreed with; andThomas would never giveway in discussion. TheKing’stempercouldwaxhot,but Thomas would remaincalm and stick to his point.Henry was amused that inspite of Thomas’s aestheticappearance and concernwithspiritual matters, at heart heloved luxury. There was nodoubtthathedid.Hisclothesbetrayed him. He could alsobe merry at times. Henry

liked to play practical jokeson his friend and Thomasresponded. The King wouldsometimeshowlwithlaughterat some of these, even thoseagainsthimself.Therewasnoone at his court who coulddiverthimasThomasBecketcould.

They were togetherconstantly. When the Kingmade his frequentperegrinations about the

countryside, his Chancellorrode beside him. Sometimesthey went off togetherincognito and sat in tavernsand talked with the people.No one recognised the talldark man with elegant longwhite hands and his youngerfreckle-faced, sturdycompanion, whose handswere square, and chappedwith the weather. Anincongruous pair those whometthemmighthavethought,

andfewwereawarethattheyweretheKingofEnglandandhisChancellor.

Henry liked nothing betterthan to score over hisChancellor. He had neverforgotten the affair of theBoulognemarriage.

Onewinter’s daywhen heand the Chancellor wereriding through London, withthe cold east wind howlingthrough the streets, Henry

looked slyly at his friend.Thomas hated the cold. Hewould wear twice as manyclothes as other men, andalthough he ate sparingly hisservant had to prepare beefsteaks and chicken for him.His blood was thin, said theKing; he was not hardy likethesprigfromthePlantagenettree. Thomas’s beautifulwhite hands were protectedby elegant but warm gloves,andeveninsuchabitterwind

whichwasnowbuffeting thestreets of London the King’shands were free. Gloves, healways declared, hamperedhim.

Suddenly the King saw apooroldmancomingtowardsthem,shivering,hisfacebluewithcold,ashe tried toholdhis tattered garments abouthim.

Henry turned to hisChancellor. ‘Do you see that

poorfellow?’heasked.

‘Poor man,’ said Thomas.‘He must find this windtrying.’

‘Icanseehisfleshthroughthe tatters of his clothes. Itwould be an act of charity,favourable in the sight ofGod, to give him a warmcloak,’

‘Itwould,’agreedThomas.‘Andyou,mylord,whohave

need to find favour in thesight of Heaven could winHeaven’sapprovalforsuchanobledeed.’

‘Come,’ said the King.‘Dismount.’

Theydidsoastheoldmanapproached.

‘Hey, my good fellow,’saidHenry, ‘do you not findthiswindhardtobear?’

The oldman nodded. ‘My

lord,’ he said, ‘I shall die ofthe cold if it lasts muchlonger.’

‘You need a good warmcloak,’ said the King. ‘Whatwould you say if you weregivenone?’

‘You mock me, sir,’ saidthe old man attempting topass on, but the Kingdetained him and turning toThomas he said: ‘I see youlong to perform this act of

charity. Why, look what afinecloakyouarewearing!Itis of rich scarlet cloth andlinedwith fur.Give it to thispooroldman.’

‘My lord,’ said Thomas,turning pale, for the thoughtof riding through the coldstreets without his cloakhorrifiedhim,‘yousufferlessfrom the cold than I do. Ifyougavehimyourcloakyouwould not notice it as I

should.’

‘That is true,’ said theKing. ‘Therefore it is amorenobleactforyoutogivehimyour cloak.’ With that heattempted to pull it fromThomaswhosought to retainitandinashort timethetwoof them were fightingtogether-Thomastokeephiscloak, the King to drag itfromhim.

Henry was laughing so

much that the old manthoughttheywerebothmad.

‘Come, you good man,’said the King. ‘Come, SaintThomas Becket. This poorman needs a cloak and youhave it. Give it to me. Youshall.Youshall.’

Thomas was no match forthe strength of the King andfinallyHenryhadwrestedthecloakfromhim.

‘Take it,my good fellow,’saidHenrytotheoldman.‘Itwill keep you warm many aday and night. Forget not inyour prayers the man whogave it to you for though hewasnottheowner,itisbyhisgoodgracesthatyouhaveit.’

The old man, who couldnot believe his good fortuneand thought that the twonoblemenwererevellerswhomight change their minds,

wrapped thecloakabouthimand scuttled off as fast as hecould.

Henry’s laughter rangthroughthestreets.

‘Why Thomas, how blueyour nose has become.Whatan icy wind! You should bethankful that I did notcommand you to give thepoor old man your gloves.What a tragedy if thosedelicate white digits should

havebecomeredandchappedlike those of your royalmaster. Praise be to God,ThomasBecket, Ihavemadeacharitablemanofyou.’

Henry thought it a greatjoke. Thomas riding throughthe cold streets was lessamused.

But the incident wastypical of the friendshipbetweenthem.

ChapterX

THEVACANTSEE

For two years Eleanor hadbeen free of child-bearing.She began to feel youngagain. Little Richard wasnearly three years old - thebrightest andmost handsome

of her children. She alwaysthoughtofhimasherspecialchild. Her preference wasobvious, also her dislike ofthe elder Geoffrey. ThePrincess Marguerite was inEngland but Louis had notwished his daughter to bebrought up by the womanwho had once been hiswife.Hefelt itwouldhavemadeasituationwhichcouldhaveitsdangers. It had been agreedtherefore that little

Marguerite should be placedin the household of a certainRobertofNewburghwhowasknown as a virtuous man ofthehighestcharacter.

Eleanor said goodbye toherchildrenandjoinedHenryin Normandy. She wished tomakea journey toAquitaine.Whenever she appeared inher native land there wasrejoicing. No matter whatrumours there were

concerning her she wasalways welcome there. Oncemore she set up her littlecourt and the troubadourscame to her; oncemore theysang of love and it seemedthat Eleanor, no longeryoung, the mother of sixliving children, was asdesirableasever.

She thought now and thenof Louis who had had threedaughters only - and two of

them by her.Marie andAlixwerebetrothedbynow,Marieto Henry of Champagne andAlix to Theobald of Blois.Did they ever think of theirmother?AndhowenviousofherandHenrywiththeirfinesons, Louis must have beenwhen his little Margueritewas born. At least that childhad strengthened the alliancebetweenFranceandEngland,and the bond would begreaterwhen shewas in fact

marriedtoyoungHenry.

As she listened to thesinging of her minstrels sheruminated that life had beeninteresting. Henry haddisappointed her, yet oddlyenoughshe stillhankered forhim. She often wonderedwhat it was about him thatattractedhersomuch.Shesoelegant; he quite the reverse.Oh,buthewasaman;andhispower sat naturally on him.

That Angevin temper of hisamusedher,butherownwasamatchforit.

Now that she had grownaccustomedtothefactthathewasunfaithfultohernowandthen, she had enjoyed theirencounters, and lookedforward to them. Her onlyreservation was that theycould result in more child-bearing. With three healthysons she had enough, she

reckoned. But she was stillyoungenoughtobearmore.

She was a little jealous ofthe King’s Chancellor forHenry seemed to prefer hiscompany to that of anyoneelse - evenwomen’s. Becketwas clever, she concededthat; and he was a goodservant, so perhaps she waswrong to resent Henry’sdevotiontohim.Akingcouldnot have too many good

servants.

She was amused to hearthat Louis’s wife waspregnantoncemore.GoodforLouis! she thoughtmockingly. At least he hadmanagedtogetherwithchildtwice. She wondered if hewas still rather reluctant andpreferred to listen to churchmusicinsteadofthemusicoflove.Notforonemomenthadsheregrettedherescapefrom

him.

The life of reposewas notforherandwhenevershewasin Aquitaine she began tothinkofToulouse,whichhadalways irritated her becauseshe believed that it shouldhavebelongedtoher.Shehadin the past claimed that itcame to her through hergrandmother Philippa, andshe was always hoping thatshe and Henry would win it

back. At this time it was inthe possession of Raymondthe fifth Count who was aweakling, yet nothing muchcould be done about itbecause he had, veryshrewdly, married the sisteroftheKingofFrance.

Ohthesemarriages!musedEleanor. How necessary apartofstatescrafttheywere.

Henry came to her whenshe sat in the gardens with

herminstrels.Heclappedhishands impatiently implyingthathewishedthemtodepart.Nooneignoredsuchasignal.The King’s temper was wellknown and something toavoid.

Henry was clearlydisturbed.He sprawleddownbeside Eleanor and said: ‘Ihave news. The Queen ofFrance was brought to bed…’

‘Ason,’saidEleanor.

‘Nay,adaughter.’

Eleanor burst out laughingbuttheKingsaidinahushedvoice: ‘TheQueen of Francediedgivingbirthtothechild.’

They were both silent,thinking of what this wouldmean. Another daughter forLouis! That was his fourth.Was it that he could not getsons? Eleanor could think

complacently of her threehealthy boys in the nursery.Poor Louis! What would hedo now? He would have tomarryagaininduecourse.

The same thought was inHenry’smind.

‘He’ll wait a while,’ hesaid, ‘and then he’ll marry.Themarriage of the King ofFrance is of the utmostimportancetome.’

Henrywascastingroundinhis mind for a wife for theKingofFrancewhowouldbesuitable in the eyes of theKingofEngland.

To the astonishment of all,only one month after thedeath of Queen Constance,LouismarriedAdelaofBlois.

Henry and Eleanor wereblankwithamazementwhichquickly turned to

apprehension.

‘So,’ cried Henry, ‘hemarries Adela of Blois inmost indecent haste and herbrotherTheobaldisbetrothedto Louis’s daughter. Thismakes a very strong alliancebetween the Count of BloisandtheKingofFrance.’

‘Toostrong,’saidEleanor.

‘I like it not,’ grumbledHenry. ‘Forget not that the

last King of England camefromthehouseofBlois.Ilikenot to see that house toopowerful.’

‘YouarethinkingthattheymightbringoutaclaimtothethroneofEngland?’

‘And if they did,’ repliedHenry, ‘would Louiswithhold his support from ahousewithwhichhehadsuchastrongalliance?’

‘It isapity thatHenryandMarguerite are too young tomarry. Then with his owndaughter married to the heirof England, Louis could donothingbutsupportyou.’

‘Why should they be tooyoungtomarry?’

‘Henry is six years old.Margueritenotyetthree.’

‘Her marriage portion isthe Vexin,’ Henry reminded

hiswife.‘IftheVexinwereinmycontrolNormandy issafeand that would give me anopportunity to turn myattentioninotherdirections.’

‘Butsuchchildren!’

‘Whynot!Weshallnotputthem to bed.But there couldbe a ceremony.Louis cannotobject. He has agreed to thematch. I will get themmarried and with themarriage, the Vexin. Every

Duke of Normandy hasknowntheimportanceofthatterritory.’

‘You’d have to get adispensationfromthePope.’

‘I got one before for ourAbbess’s marriage,remember.Alexander is veryinsecure. If I promised himmy support for thedispensation do you doubt itwouldbemine?’

‘You are a clever man,Henry.’

‘Mydearwife,IshouldnotlongbeKingofEnglandandDukeofNormandy if Iwerenot!’

She could not help butadmire the manner in whichhegothiswill.

MargueriteandHenryweremarried. It was a quietceremonybutittookplacein

thepresenceoftwocardinals,and since it was truly amarriagethedowrycouldnotbe withheld. The Vexin wasnow under Henry’s rule andhefeltagooddealmoreeasyin his mind regarding themarriage of the King ofFrancewithAdelaofBlois.

Urged by Eleanor Henrydecided that he was in aposition to launch an attack

on Toulouse and bring itwhere Eleanor had longdecided it should be - alliedwith Aquitaine, in thepossession of that province’sDukeandDuchess.

He had the Vexin tosafeguard Normandy;England was well governedby his justiciary the Earl ofLeicester, and he sentChancellorBeckettoEnglandtoraiseacompanyofknights

and bring them into France.He was sure that little effortwouldbenecessarytosubdueRaymondofToulouse.Louishated war; he would standaside and all Henry wouldhave to dowas take a castleor two toassureRaymondofhisstrength.

Henry had underestimatedLouis and it was anunpleasant surprise to learnthat the King of France

refused to remain aloof. Hehad a family tie withRaymond who had marriedhissister;moreovertheCountof Toulouse was one of hisvassals. It was a fact thatHenry Plantagenet wasbecoming too overbearing -andinconsequenceitseemedtoo powerful. Louis wasawarethatastopwouldhaveto bemade to such headlongprogressanddeclared thathewould go to the help of his

brother-in-law.

Henrywasnonplussed.Hehad no desire to go to waragainsttheKingofFrance;hecould see a majorengagement developing; itwould never do for him todefeat the King of France.Norwould itdofor theKingof France to defeat him. Hecould not take over France.There would be endlesstroubleifhedid.Hewouldbe

fightinginFrancefortherestofhislife.

Butwhat could he do?Hehad declared war onRaymond of Toulouse.Becket had arrived with hisarrayofknightsandtheKingof Scotland had offered tocometohisaid.

Uncertainly hemarched toToulouseandwhen thewallsofthecitywereinsightnewswasbroughttohimthatLouis

himselfwaswithin.

The King called a halt tohis armies. He sent for hisChancellor.

‘This is a sorry state ofaffairs,Becket,’hesaid.

‘Why so, my lord? It wasyour wish to make war onToulouse.’

‘I know, I know. But theKingofFrance iswithin thatcity.’

‘Bybeingtherehedeclareshimself to be an enemy ofyours.’

‘What if Iwere to kill theKingofFrance?’

‘I was thinking, my lord,whatifheweretokillyou?’

‘Bah! He never would.He’snosoldier.He’llhavenostomachforthefight.’

‘Stomach enough to placehimself at the head of his

armies and join Raymond ofToulouseagainstyou.’

‘IwouldIhadneverbegunthis. Help me out of it,Thomas. Tell me what I candonow.’

‘TheDukeofNormandyisthe vassal of the King ofFrance.’

‘Tell me not what I knowalready.’

‘You have sworn to serve

him and accept him as yourliege lord. How could youthen take up arms againsthim?’

‘IcanandwouldifsobeIhadamind.’

‘Yetyouhavenoheart forthisbecauseyouaskyourselfis it a just fight?My lord, inEngland many of yoursubjects have swornallegiance to you. If youbreak your word to the

suzerain of the Duke ofNormandy, others might seeit as a precedent and actaccordinglytowardstheKingof England. Might not thosewhohaveswornallegiancetoyou break their vows insimilarfashion?’

‘I see what you mean,Thomas.’

‘We can abandon thisproject. We can walk awayfromthewallsofToulouse.’

‘And what will be said ofthat?’

‘That theKing ofEnglandis an honourable man. SincetheKingofFrancetakessideswith Raymond of Toulouse,and as Duke of NormandyHenryPlantagenet has swornallegiance to him, heabandonswhatwould appearto be certain victory for thesakeofhishonour.’

Henry looked at his

Chancellor, narrowed hiseyes and burst into his loudlaughter.

‘Youhaveit,Thomas.Youhave it, friend. Did I notalways know that youwouldprovidemewiththerightandrighteousanswer.’

There was a certain amountof puzzlement regarding theKing’s action. Why had hegathered together an army

onlytotakeit tothewallsofToulouse, and then lead itaway?

Was Henry Plantagenetafraidofthecombinedforcesof Toulouse and France? Itwas strange, for theadvantagewasallhis.

Speculation as to hisinability to succeed wasdispersedalmostimmediatelyfor Louis’s brother Robert,hungryforpower,hadseized

the opportunity to attackNormandy.

Henry had no scrupleshere. He went straight intothe fight and so trouncedRobertthathewassoonsuingforpeace.

ThusHenry’sreputationasa man of honour wasenhancedwithnolossto thatasacommanderofarmies.

It had not been such an

unprofitable affair after all.Only Eleanor was frustratedand angry. She had beenfurious to discover that shewas oncemore pregnant andsecretlyupbraidedherself forallowing this to happen, butshe concentrated herreproachesonHenry’sfailuretotakeToulouse.

‘It is mine,’ she declared.‘It came to me with mygrandfather. You who took

England, who tookNormandy, could have takenToulouse.’

Henry shrugged hisshoulders. ‘Iwill takewhat Iwantandwhen Iwant it,’hetoldher.

‘ButnotToulouse!Youareafraid of theKing ofFrance.Afraid of my meek monkLouis!’

‘Rant all you wish,’ said

the King. ‘I shall heed younot.’

‘Mayhap,’ retaliatedEleanor, ‘one of these daysmysonswillbeoldenoughtofightfortheirmother.’

‘A fine thing to say whenyoumaywellbecarryingoneofthemnow.’

‘Do not goad me too far,Henry,’ retorted Eleanor, ‘oryouwillregretit.’

‘You may apply the sametome,’heretorted.

Her frustration wasintolerable. Itwasunfair thatit should always be thewoman’s lot to bear thechildren.

This shall be the last, shepromisedherself.Buthadshenot said that when Geoffreywasborn?

In due course she gave

birth toherchild in the townofDomfront.

She named her Eleanorafterherself.

Archbishop Theobald waswritingfrequentlytoThomas.

‘You are still Archdeaconof Canterbury yet we neversee you here. What of theaffairsoftheChurch?Doyouforget them in your secular

duties?’

Thomas told the King oftheArchbishop’s requests forhisreturn.

‘Tell the old man I needyou with me,’ replied theKing.

‘I should doubtless resignmypostofArchdeacon.’

‘Nay.‘TisbetterforyoutoremainintheChurch.’

‘It is long since I was inCanterbury. I should return,formy old friend and patrongrowsold.Inhislastletterhecalls himself my spiritualfather and prophesies that hehas not long for this world.He wishes me to go back toCanterburybeforehedies.’

‘Youcannotgo,Thomas.Ineed you here. Write to theArchbishopandtellhimyourKing needs his Chancellor.

Who brought your namebefore me when I needed aChancellor? Theobald,ArchbishopofCanterbury.Sohe cannot complain now thatI took the man he chose forme,andnowIexpecthim toholdhispost.’

So Thomas wrote toTheobald and explained tohim that he would return assoon as he could leave theKing.

Henry smiled secretly. Hewas determined that Thomasshould not have thatopportunity. In fact he waswonderinghowhecouldbindThomasmoreclosely tohim,for he was enjoying hiscompanymoreandmore.Helooked for honours to heapuponhimandhedecidedthathewould put his sonHenry,the young bridegroom, intohischarge.

Already several noblemenhad sent their sons into thehouseholdofThomasBecket,where the boys would learnnotonlybooklorebuthowtobehave in a chivalrous andknightlymanner.Theywouldlearneleganceandcourtlinesswith such a man as ThomasBecket.

‘IshallgivemyboyHenryinto your keeping,’ the KingtoldThomas.‘Youwillbring

him up to be honourable,righteous, and at the sametime to behave like a king.You will teach him to lovethegood thingsof lifeandatthesametimekeephispeacewith God. A rarecombination, my friend.Sometimes methinks onlyyouknowthesecret.’

‘Ishalldoallinmypowerto bring up your son as agood Christian prince,’

repliedBecket.

‘Takehim toEngland.Letit be arranged that all thebarons and bishops dohomage to him. Let Englandrecognise him as their futureking.’

Before Thomas reachedEngland Theobald was deadandThomasregretted thathehadnotdisobeyedtheKing’sordersandgonebacktosayalastfarewelltohisoldfriend.

In fairness to himself hecould suppress hisconscience. He was theKing’sChancellorandinthisimportant post had his dutiesto perform. Theobald wouldhaveunderstoodthat.Thomaswonderedwhether at the endTheobald had regrettedgettingtheChancellorshipforhim.

Henowdevotedhimselftothe task of carrying out the

King’s orders regardingyoung Henry. The boy soonbecame devoted to him andthe task was pleasant, but itwas not long before therecame a message from theKing.

ThomaswastojoinhiminNormandy.

The See of Canterbury hadbeenvacantforsomemonths,and the country was without

its chief archbishop. Henrywas in no great hurry to fillthe post for while it wasvacant the vast revenues fellintohiscoffers.

The winter had been badand Thomas suffered greatdiscomfortfromthecold,andasaresultbecameillandwasforcedtorestatStGervaseinRouen while the royal partywentontoFalaise.

Onedaywhenhewaswell

enough to sit up hewrappedhimself in a loose robe andwas playing a gameof chesswithoneofhisknightswhenthe Prior of Leicester calledtoseehim.

The Prior expressedastonishment to see him insuch unclerical garb. ‘Why,my lord,’ he said, ‘you lookmore like a falconer than anarchdeacon. Yet churchmanyouare.Yourtitlesevennow

are formidable. Archdeaconof Canterbury, Dean ofHastings,ProvostofBeverleyand Canon of Rouen. Nor isthatall.’

‘Whatmeanyouby“noristhatall”?’askedThomas.

‘I speak only of therumours and what is said tobe in the King’s mindconcerning theArchbishopricofCanterbury.’

‘Andwhatisthisthen?’

‘Thathehas it inhismindtomakeyouhisArchbishop.’

Thomas rose unsteadily tohisfeet.

‘Nay, you have heardamiss.’

‘This is what is said incourt circles. Those who areintimate with the King aresaying thathehasmentionedyour name in this

connection.’

‘It must not be. I knowthree priests in Englandwhom I would rather seepromoted to theArchbishopricthanmyself.’

‘Are you not an ambitiousmanthen,Chancellor?’

‘My ambition is to domyduty.’

‘ThencouldyounotpleaseGod doubly as head of his

ChurchinEngland?’

‘The King has been mygood friend. I know himintimately. I know it wouldnotbegood forme tobehisArchbishop. I am hisChancellor. As such I canserve him well. It wouldpleasemetogoonasIam.’

‘The King holds you insuch esteem that he wouldwish to see you head of theChurch.’

‘IfIbecameArchbishopofCanterbury I shouldnot holdhisfavour.’

‘Whyshouldyounot?’

‘BecausetheKinglikesnotthosewho do not agree withhim.’

‘HelikeshisChancellor.’

‘Wecandisagreeinsecularmatters yes, and do. And inthese I should be forced togive way to the King. If I

were Archbishop I might becalled upon to set aside mydutytoGodinordertopleasetheKing.’

‘You’re a strange man,ThomasBecket.’

‘Iknowmyself,’ answeredThomas, ‘and I know theKing.IshalldeclinehisofferoftheArchbishopric.’

Itwasdifficult tocontinuewith that game of chess.

Uneasy thoughts had settledin Thomas’s mind and cometostay.

TheKing sent for him at hiscastleofFalaise.

‘Hey,Thomas,’ he cried. ItrustIseeyouwell.Why,youlook thin and wan, man. Beofgoodcheer.Soonweshallset sail for England. I’llwarrant our green fields willmakeyouwellagain.’

The King’s eyes wereglazed with sentiment. HewasthinkingofRosamundinherbowerwaitingtoseehim.It would in truth be good tobehomeagain.

He turned to Thomas andthere was deep affection inhiseyes.

‘Iwantedtotalkwithyou,Thomas, about a certainmatter. It’s months since oldTheobalddied.’

‘Almost a year,’ saidThomas.

‘AndtheSeeofCanterburyhasbeenvacantall this time.NotthatIwillcomplainaboutthat. But it seems we musthaveanArchbishopthereandmythoughtshavealightedonthemanbestsuitedtofillthepart.’

‘I know of several priestswho would fit the roleadmirably,mylord.’

‘I know of only one andthat makes the selectioneasy.’ Henry took a steptowards Thomas and laid hishands on his shoulders. ‘Mygood friend, it gives mepleasuretorewardyouforallyour services to me. I havedecided that you shall bemyArchbishopofCanterbury.’

‘Youaregracious,Sire,butI refuse the honour. It is notforme.’

‘Not for you! What inGod’s name do you mean?Not for you! It is for you. Isayit’sforyou.’

‘My lord, it would not bewise.’

‘What’s this? You and Itogether.Dowenot rule thisland, eh? Do I not listen toyouandtakeyouradvice?’

‘Whenitpleasesyoutodoso,’saidThomas.

The King laughed aloudand slapped Thomas on theshoulder.

‘True enough, my goodfriend. The Church has everbeenathorninthesideofourkings.Ihaveoftenthoughttomyself, I will never sufferthat thorn. And how shall Iavoidit?ByputtingmygoodfriendThomasat theheadofthe Church. Have we notbeen good friends through

yourChancellorship?’

‘Thebest,’saidThomas.

‘I like our friendship,Thomas. That’s why I likeyou with me. I like to gohawking with you. I like tosupatyour table.Youareasmybrother.There,isthatnotan honour to you? Thegrandson of great Henry andthe great-grandson of greaterWilliamchoosesyou,thesonof a merchant, as the best

friendheeverhad.’

‘Such condescension isflattering,’saidThomas.‘I,asahumblemerchant’sson,amaware of the honour done tome. I value that friendshipwhich you are graciousenough to acknowledge, andit isbecause I cannotbear tospoilitthatIdeclinethepostyouofferme.’

The King’s temper wasbeginningtorise.

‘Ifmylordwillexcuseme…’beganThomas.

‘Nay,’ roared the King. ‘Iwill do no such thing. Youwillstayhereandyouwillgoon your knees and thankmefor my munificence inoffering you this great postwhich is what you desiredmore than anything else, thepeak of your ambition, thepost on which you set yourheart ever since you entered

theChurch.’

‘MayIspeak?’

‘Youmay.’

‘If I take thispost it couldimpairourfriendship.’

‘Howso?’

‘Ifwedidnotagree…’

‘Are we not now often indisagreement?’

‘It is so. But that is inmatters of government in

which I must perforce givewaytoyou.YouaremyKingand I am your servant. If Ibecame Archbishop ofCanterbury there is onewhom I must serve beforeyouandthatisGod.’

‘Aplagueonsuchtalk!Myancestors have quarrelledconstantly with the Church.There has ever been conflictbetween them. It is to avoidthis thatIwishyoutobemy

Archbishop. You and I willhave our disagreements butshould we ever quarrelseriously?’

‘Imustrepeatthatmyfirstallegiance would have to betoGod.YouaremyKingandmy friend. I would have itremainasitstandsnow.Ibegofyou,mylord,toacceptmydecision.’

The King stared atThomas. ‘I could force you

…’hebegan.

‘Nay,thatisonethingyoucould not do,’ contradictedThomas.

‘Then I must perforcepersuade you. Now, yourlooksdonotpleaseme.Ilikenot to see my Chancellor sowan. You shall not traveluntil you are completelyrecovered. I must go toEnglandandyoushallfollowmewhenyouarewell.’

‘You are gracious to me,my lord,’ said Thomas withsomeemotion.

‘Sometimes I wonder atmyself,’ answered the King.‘I have a fondness for you,and Ipromiseyou itwillnotlessen,evenwhenyouaremyArchbishop.’

Henry went back to Englandwhere there were certainmatters to occupy him.

LeicesterandRicharddeLuciweregoodfellows,anditwasafinethingtohavesuchloyalservants; but neither of thempleased him as Thomas did.Hemissedhiscompany.

Whenhethoughtofhimhebegan to laugh. He couldnever fully understandThomas. That love of silkengarments, those lily-whitehands! Whatever he said,Thomas loved luxury.

Thomaswas a clever fellow,none more clever. Was hecapable of putting on a frontfor everyone to see … evenhis King? Was that piousexterior hiding a sensualman? He couldn’t hide thatlove for the good things oflife. His household articleswere of the finest. He livedmore like a king than theKinghimself.

How he would love to

discover Thomas in someintrigue! Nothing woulddelight him more. Howamusing to discover him …say in bed with a woman.How they would laughtogether.

Then you and I, Thomas,would go adventuringtogether, he thought. I canimaginenogreaterdelight.

‘My first allegiance is toGod.’ That irked. Thomas,

youarehumanliketherestofus.Youwant oldTheobald’spost. You must. And whenyou have it, you and I willshow the Pope of Rome thatEngland can do without theChurch, that the King ofEngland is more powerfulthan any Pope, for all thathe’sasoldierandalecher.

If only he could discoverThomas in some awkwardsituation.

He had left Eleanor atWestminster and travelled toStafford on one of hisfrequent journeys that hispeople might see that hecaredfortheirwell-beingandatthesametimemadesureoftheir good conduct. Thecountry was becoming law-abidingagain.Theroadsweresafe as they had been in thedays of his grandfather. Hehad abolished the brigandryof theroadwhenno traveller

hadbeen safe.These robbershad no wish to lose hands,feet,ears,noseoreyesforthesakeofsomeone’spurse;andthe King’s judgement wasrelentless. No one could besurewhenhewouldputinanappearance, so there mustconsequently be no strayingfromthestrict lawswhichhehadlaiddown.

Some years before theKinghadenjoyedhisvisitsto

Staffordforlivingtherewasayoung woman of whom hehad been quite enamoured.HernamewasAviceandshehadbornehimtwosons.Sheno longer appealed to him.Rosamund had filled histhoughts since he had firstdiscovered her and he hadfound that no womansatisfied him as she did, sothatwheneverhehadthetimetodally itwas toWoodstockhewent.

Avice might no longer bethe slender young girl whohad caught his fancy but shewas still a very attractivewoman - some seemed tothinkmoreso inher ripenessthanshehadbeenwhenveryyoung.

The King visited her nowand then for old time’s sakeand had always retained anaffectionforher.

NowatStaffordhesentfor

her. She was delighted tocome,alwayshopingthatshecould regain her old positionwithhim.

He decided to spend thenightwithher,andwhentheyweretogetheranideacametohim.Itsoamusedhimthathecould not stop himselflaughing.

‘Now, Avice,’ he said, ‘Iwantyoutodosomethingforme.’

‘Anything Icando formylord shall be done,’ sheassuredhim.

‘I want you to see if youcan lure my Chancellor intobedwithyou.’

‘My lord!’ Avice was alittlehurt.Whatgreaterproofcould there be of a lover’sindifference than when hesuggested she should beturned over to someone else.‘You cannot mean Thomas

Becket?’

‘Noneother.’

‘But theman is a cleric ishenot?’

‘My dear Avice, clericshave been known to enjoy awomannowandthen.’

‘Notthisman,surely.’

‘So he would have usbelieve.’

‘You thinkhe isdeceiving

you?’

‘Idon’tknow.ButIshouldliketofindout.Oh,ifIcouldsurprisehiminbedwithyou,Avice, I would reward youwell.’

‘I would not ask forrewards, my lord, to serveyou.’

‘Nay, you are a goodwenchandpleasant timeswehavehad together - andshall

havemoreIdoubtnot.’

‘Yetyouwouldwishmeto…toentertainthisman?’

‘Iwouldwishyoutoproveto me that he is not thevirtuousfellowhepretendstobe. You are a beautifulwoman, Avice. Do this formeandIshallnotforgetit.’

‘Whatwouldyouhavemedo?’

‘He will be coming to

Stafford to join the court. Iwill send for him. When hearrives I wish you to showfriendshiptohim.Askhimtocome and see you. Feignreligion if you wish. Visithim at his lodging. My dearAvice,youwillknowhowtogoonfromthere.’

‘Andthen?’

‘He will be staying in thehouse of a clerk calledVivien. He has stayed there

before.IwillspeaktoVivienand he will play his part. Iwant him to surprise you inbedwithBecket.Thenhewillbesoover-wrought,knowingyou have been my mistress,that he will come at once tome and tell me what hashappened. It is a simpleenoughplot.’

‘IdoubtfromwhatIknowofThomasBecketthatitwillsucceed.’

‘That is what everyonewould say. But you don’tknow Thomas. I know themanwell. Iwouldknowhimbetter. You will do this forme, my dear Avice. I shallregard it as a great favour tome.’

‘I would rather entertainyou,mylord.’

‘Soyoushall.DothisandIwillneverforgetyou.’

He studied herappraisingly. Shewas a verybeautifulwoman,voluptuous,irresistible.

We shall see, friendThomas,hethought.

Thomas arrived in Staffordandwentstraighttothehouseof Vivien where he hadstayedmanytimesbefore.Hewaswarmlywelcomedbythefamily and taken to his

chamber.

He was tired and stillfeeling weak; moreover hewas beset by anxieties. TheKingwouldnoteasilylethimrefusethepostofArchbishopandThomaswasbeginningtothink that he would have noalternativebuttotakeit.

It will be the end, hethought.TheKing and Iwillbeenemies.Hewillneverfallintostepandwalkbeside the

Church.Therewillalwaysbedifferences of opinion,always conflict. And yet theKingwas insisting.Althoughhe did not say outright: ‘Icommand you to take thispost,’itwasinhismind.

Vivien came to hischamber to say that amessagehadarrived forhim.ItwasfromMistressAviceofwhomhemayhaveheard.

Thomaswrinkledhisbrow.

‘IthinkIhaveheardtheKingspeakofaladyofthatname.’

‘Very likely,’ said Vivien,‘she was at one time theKing’sverygoodfriend.’

‘What can she want ofme?’

‘She is asking for anaudience.’

‘Shemaycomehere.’

She came immediately.

She was a very beautifulwoman. Thomas couldunderstand the attraction shehadoncehadfortheKing.

She told him that she hadsinnedgreatlyduringher lifeandwasnoweagertorepent.

‘Mengoonpilgrimages totheHolyLandtotakepart incrusades.Whatcanawomando?’

‘You could go into a

convent.’

‘I fear that would be tooeasy a way out. You mustforgivemefortakingupyourtime but something told methat only aman such as youcould give me the advice Ineed.Willyoupromisemetothinkofthematter?’

‘Theanswerisinyourself,’said Thomas. ‘Only you cansaveyoursoul.’

‘Yet such a man asyourself can best advise me.YouareamanofGodandyetyou live at court. You sharemuchof theKing’s life.Youyourself must have hadtemptations.’

‘We have all hadtemptations,’ answeredThomas.‘Weovercomethemthrough prayer. Go away,pray and askGod’s help andtheanswerwillcometoyou.’

‘Thank you. You haveeasedmymind considerably.May I come and see youagain?’

Thomassaidshemightandthathewouldmentionher inhisprayers.

‘That gives me greatcomfort. How much morereadily will your prayers belistenedto.’

When she had gone

Thomas forgot her. He hadmattersofState toponderonand he could not help butreturn to the constantquestionoftheArchbishopricofCanterbury.

The next day Avice cameagain.Shefounditdifficulttopray, she said. WouldThomasteachher?

Thomas,whonever turneda supplicant away, said hewould pray with her and

again advised her to sell herworldly goods and go into aconvent.

Sheusedallherwiles, sheadmitted that she had beenthe mistress of the King, afactwhicharousedThomas’sinterest. She came close tohim as she talked and themusk smell with which shescented her clothes waspleasant to him. She was avery attractive woman and

cleverlyskilled inall theartsof seduction. How easilyHenry would havesuccumbed.

He sighed, thinking of theweaknesses of the King, andmarvelled that a man sostrong, so able a ruler, sodeterminedongettinghiswillcould yet so easily betempted.

When Avice left Vivienspoketoher.Shewassmiling

as though well pleased withherself.

She must be coming thisnight, thought the clerk, forthe courtwasmoving on thenextday and tonightwas theonlytimeitcouldbe.

Thomas returned to hischamberandallwasquiet.

It was midnight when theKing arrived. He waswrapped in a concealing

cloak so that none wouldguesshisidentity.

Vivien came to the doorholding high a horn lantern.The King stepped into thehouse.

‘The Chancellor is here?’heasked.

‘Yes, my lord,’ saidVivien. ‘In his bedchamber.I’llwarrantheisnotalone.’

‘Go to his room,’ said the

King. ‘Do not knock on thedoor. Throw it open and seewhatyoufind.’

Vivien took the hornlanternandmountedthestairssilently.Gentlyheopenedthedoor of Thomas’sbedchamber. He shone thelightofthehornlanternroundtheroom.

Thebedwasempty!

Vivien felt exultant. The

plothadworked.IfThomas’sbedwas empty then hemustbe sleeping elsewhere andwhere?InAvice’sbed.

How delighted the Kingwouldbe.

Henrywasstandingbehindhim.

‘What?’hewhispered.

‘He is not here, my lord.He is sleepingelsewhere thisnight.’

‘I know where,’ cried theKing and then he stoppedshort.Forkneelingatthebedinadeepsleep,his facepaleand drawn in the light fromthe horn lantern, wasThomas.

TheKingstaredathimforsome moments and a greattenderness came over hisface.

Heputhisfingertohislipsand with a nod of his head

ordered Vivien to proceeddownstairs.

‘He has fallen asleep overhis prayers,’ he said. ‘WhydidIever thinkIcouldcatcha man like Thomas? He cannever be caught for thissimple reason, that hewouldneverfallintotemptation.’

Richard de Luci with theBishops of Exeter andChichestercalledonThomas.

They talked to him longandearnestly.

Theybelievedthathisdutylay clearly before him. Hehad the King’s confidence.Henrywould listen tohimastonootherman.TheChurchneeded him. The See ofCanterbury had remainedvacant too long. Clearly itwas the duty of ThomasBecket to take the robes ofoffice.

The King had determinedthat he should; and now themembers of the clergy wereinagreementwiththeKing.

Thomasknewthattheeasyhappy friendship with theKingmustdecline.Hismodeof life must change. Yet thechallenge had come and heknewhemusttakeit.

Thomas gave his promisethat he would accept theKing’s offer and become the

ArchbishopofCanterbury.

ChapterXI

THERISINGSTORM

In his castle of Falaise theKingtalkedwithhiswifeandmother and the subject oftheir discourse was the newArchbishopofCanterbury.

Matilda, now showing herage but as fiery as ever,wasrepeating what she had saidmanytimesbeforewhichwasto theeffect thather sonhadmadeagreatmistakewhenhehadchosenThomasBecket.

Eleanor shrugged hershoulders. Becket did notgreatly interest her but shedid deplore Henry’sobsessionwiththemanwhichwas now spreading to their

sonHenry.Whenshehadlastmet the child he had shownhis adoration for theArchbishop and seemed tolook up to him as a divinebeing. It was all verytiresome, but better, shethought, that theKingshouldspend his time with a manlike Becket than to besporting with all kinds ofwomen.

‘Nay,my lady,’ he replied

to his mother. ‘I could nothave made a better choice.BecketandIunderstandeachother. He has been a goodChancellor and when theChancellor and theArchbishopofCanterburyareoneandthesameyouwillseehoweasy it is forus tocarryoutourplans.’

‘I shall pray that it is so,’said Matilda. ‘But there hasalways been trouble between

the Kings and the Church.The Church wants to takepowerfromtheStateanditisfor theKingstoseethat theydonot.Inappointingthismanas head of your Church youhaveputunlimitedpowerintohishands.’

‘Becket wielded greatpower as Chancellor,’ saidtheKing.‘Ifoundhimeasytohandlethen.’

‘The King and his

Chancellor, wereinseparable,’saidEleanor.

‘I could never understandthis friendship with such aman,’ put in Matilda. ‘Amerchant’s son! It puzzlesme.’

‘Believe me,’ said Henry,‘there is no man in Englandmorecultured.’

‘It is impossible,’ snappedMatilda. ‘You deceive

yourself.’

‘I do not. He is a man ofgreat learning, and has anaturalnobility.’

‘The King loves him asthough he were a woman,’putinEleanorscornfully.

Henry threw a venomousglance in her direction.Whydid she take sides with hismother against him? Eversince he had put young

Geoffrey in the nursery shehadmanifestedthisdislikeofhim.

‘I esteemhimas a friend,’corrected Henry angrily.‘Therewasneveranyotherofmyservantswhocouldamusemeasthatmandid.’

‘And not content withmaking him your Chancelloryou must give him the chiefarchbishopric in thekingdomaswell.’

‘Mymother,mywife!Thisis politics. This is statecraft.My Chancellor is myArchbishop. My ChancellormustbeloyaltotheStateandsince my Archbishop is alsomyChancellorhowcanhegoagainst that which isbeneficialtotheState?’

‘So this is your idea ofbringing the Church intosubmission to theState,’saidMatilda.‘Ihopeitworks.’

‘Fear not, Mother. It willwork.’

‘Your Archbishop isindeed a worldly man.’Eleanor turned to Matilda.‘Youwillknowthatthismanlives in unsurpassedsplendour. He maintainsseven hundred knights andthetrappingsofhishorsesarecovered in gold and silver. Iheard that he receives thehighestintheland.’

‘And as Chancellor so heshould,’retortedtheKing.

‘An upstart,’ saidMatilda.‘Havingbeenbornhumblehemust continually let peopleknow how noble he hasbecome.’

‘You, my dear Mother,werebornroyalbut Ibelieveyou never allowed any toforgetyournobility.’

‘Oh, but this fellow was

quite ostentatious,’ saidEleanor. ‘Ihaveheard it saidthathe livedmoresplendidlythanyoueverdid.’Henrylaughedindulgently.

‘He has a taste for suchluxury.Asyousayhewasnotborn to it but acquired it.Thereforeheprizedit.’

‘He has bewitched you,’Eleanortoldhim.

He gave her a glance of

distaste. Why did she baithim? She was jealous heknew. So she still had somefeeling for him. She haddisliked his friendship withBecketalmostasmuchasshehatedhisloveaffairs.

Shewenton todiscuss theextravagancesofBecket.

‘Athisbanquetstheremustbeeveryrarity.Iheardthathepaid seventy-five pounds foradishofeels.’

‘One hears this gossip,’said the King. ‘If Thomaswas extravagant itwas to dome honour. He is myChancellor and I rememberwhen he went to France ingreat state it was said that Imust indeed be a wealthyman since my Chancellortravelledashedid.’

‘Clever he may be,’ saidMatilda, ‘but I warn you.Make sure he is not too

clever.’

‘You will see what abrilliant move this is on mypart. This will be an end tothestrifebetweenChurchandState.’

It was only a day or soafter that conversation thatHenry fell into one of thegreatest rages that ever hadovertakenhim.

A messenger had arrived

from Canterbury, bringingwith him the Great Seal ofOffice.Henry looked at it indismay for he began tounderstand what it meant.There was a letter fromThomasandastheKingreadit a mist swam before hiseyes.

‘By God’s eyes, Thomas,’he muttered between histeeth. ‘I could kill you forthis.’

Thomashadwrittenthathemust resign hisChancellorship for he couldnot reconcile his two posts.The Archbishop must bequite apart from theChancellor. Thomas had anewmaster.TheChurch.

Henry’s rage almostchoked him. This was thevery thing his mother hadprophesied. This was theimplication behind Eleanor’s

sneers. He had believed inThomas’s love for him; hehad thought their friendshipmoreimportantthananythingelse.Soithadseemedtohim.ButnottoThomas.

He remembered Thomas’swords.Itwouldbetheendoftheirfriendship.

Only if theChancellorandthe Archbishop were as onecouldHenry’sbattlewith theChurch be won. If Thomas

was going to set himself upon one sidewhile hewas onthe other there would beconflictbetweenthem.

Hisgrandfatherhadfoughtwith the Church. Was he todothesame…withThomas?

And he had thoughthimself so clever. He wasgoing to avoid that. He wasgoing to put his friend intotheChurchsothattheChurchwould be subservient to the

State-sothattheKingwouldrule and none gainsay him.Henry Plantagenet hadplannedtohavenoPopeoverhim.

And this man … whocalled himself his friend, towhomhehadgiven somuch…hadbetrayedhim.Hehadaccepted the Archbishopricand resigned from theChancellorship.

‘ByGod,Thomas,’hesaid,

‘if you wish there to be warbetween us, then war thereshall be. And I shall be thevictor. Make no mistakeaboutthat.’

Then the violence of hisrage overcame him. He beathisfistagainstthewallanditwas Thomas’s face he sawthere. He kicked the stoolaround the chamber and itwasThomashekicked.

None dared approach him

untilhisrageabated.Theyallknewhowviolent theKing’stempercouldbe.

EleanorandHenry took theirfarewell of Matilda andtravelled to Barfleur. TheKing had declared he wouldspend Christmas atWestminster.

His anger against Thomashad had time to cool. Hereasoned with himself.

ThomashadreluctantlytakentheArchbishopricandhehadin some measure forced ituponhim.Thereforehemustnot complain if Thomasresigned the Chancellorship.It was disappointing but hemight have known thatThomas would do exactly ashehaddone.Hewasafterallacleric.

There will be battlesbetween us, thought Henry.

Well, therehavealwaysbeenbattles of a kind. It will bestimulating, amusing. I longtoseeThomasagain.

Eleanor said: ‘I’ll dareswear your Archbishop istrembling in his shoes as heawaitsyourarrival.’

‘ThatissomethingThomaswouldneverdo.’

‘If he has heard what amighty rage you were in

when you heard he hadresigned the Chancellorship,hewillsurelynotexpectyoutogreethimlovingly.’

‘He is a man of greatintegrity.Hewouldalwaysdowhathebelievedtoberight.’

‘So he is forgiven? Howyou love that man! I’llwarrantyoucanscarcelywaitto enjoy his sparklingdiscourse. And only a shortwhile ago you were cursing

him.What a fickle man youare,Henry!’

‘Nay,’ answered Henry,‘rather say I am constant,althoughImaybeenragedforatimethatpasses.’

‘Yourservantsknowit.Allthey must do is anger you,keep out of your way andthenreturntobeforgiven.’

‘You know that is nottrue,’ he said and closed the

conversation.

Do not think, she mused,that Imaybe thrustasideforawhile and then taken back.Youmay be in a position tosubjugate others but notEleanor of Aquitaine. I shallnever forget that you placedyour bastard into mynurseries to be brought upwith my sons. Richard wasnowsix.Shehadwatchedhismanner with his father. He

was all for his mother, andwould be more so. AndRichard was the mostbeautiful andmostpromisingof their children. Henry theeldest had already gone toBecket and clearly doted ontheman.LittleGeoffreywastoo young to show apreference.Henrycouldhavethe adulation of his littlebastard and be content withthat,butwhen the timecameitwas his legitimate children

who would inherit theirparents’ possessions. RichardshouldbeDukeofAquitaine;on that she had decided. Hecould already singcharminglyandlovedtoplaythelute.

AtBarfleurtheywaitedforthewindtoabate.Itwouldbefolly to set to sea in suchweather.But day after day itragedanditbecameapparentthat they could not be in

WestminsterforChristmas.

There were festivities atCherbourg,butitwasnotthesame. Eleanor would haveliked to be with her childrenon Christmas Day. She hadplanned an entertainment forthem with minstrels anddancers and she knew thatyoung Richard would haveenjoyed that and shone tooabove the rest of them. Hewould have made bastard

Geoffreyseemanoaf.

Itwasnotuntilnearingtheend of January that they setsail.

When they reachedSouthamptonThomasBecketand their son Henry werewaiting there to greet them.Henry, eight years old, hadgrown since they last sawhim. He knelt before themandhisfatherlaidhishandonhishead.Hewaspleasedwith

hisson’sprogress.Therewasnothinggaucheabouttheboy.ThatwasduetoThomas.

And Thomas? He and theKing looked at each othersteadily. Thomaswas clearlyuncertain what to expect.Then the King burst outlaughing.

‘Well, my Chancellor thatwas andmyArchbishop thatis,howfareyou?’

And all was well betweenthem.

On the journey to Londonthe King rode side by sidewith his Archbishop andevery now and then theKing’s laughter rang out.Therewasacontentedgleaminhiseyes.Therewasnoonewho could amuse him likeThomas.

As they neared the end ofthe ride he referred to his

anger when he had receivedthe news of Thomas’sresignation.

‘Iguessed itwouldbeso,’saidThomas.

‘Yetyoudaredprovokeit.’

‘Itwasinevitable.IknewIcould not remainChancellor.Thatwaswhy Ididnotwishto becomeArchbishop in thefirst place. Iwas certain thatit would impair our

friendship.’

‘There will be battlesbetween us, Thomas. But byGod’s eyes, I’d rather havebattleswithyou thandocilityfromanyotherman.’

‘Nay,’ answered Thomas,‘harmonyisbest.’

‘See,’ retorted the King.‘You disagree with mealready.’

Thomas smiled ruefully as

hegazedatthedarkeningskyoverWestminster.

Summerhadcome.TheKinghadriddentoWoodstockandthere had found many anopportunity to slip away toRosamund.Shewasdelightedtohavehimwithherafterhislong absence abroad. Thechildren had grown anddancedroundhimtoseewhatgifts he had brought them

while Rosamund reprovedthem gently. What did giftsmatter, she demanded, whentheyhadtheirdearfatherwiththem?

‘IwouldthatIcouldcometo you more often,Rosamund,’ he told her.‘Here I find a peace whichelsewhereisdeniedme.’

The fact that he kept hisliaisonwithherasecretapartfrom one or two who must

inevitablyknowofit-gaveita touchof romancewhichhehadneverknownwithanyofhisothermistresses.

‘Has anyone come to thehouse?’healwaysaskedher.

Oneortwopeoplehad,shetoldhim.Theyhadwanderedthroughthemazeoftreesandbychancearrivedthere.Theyhad been strangers who hadnot associated her with theKing.

He was always a littleuneasy that Eleanor mightdiscover Rosamund’s bower.Andifshedid?Thenperforceshe must suffer it. But hefearedher inaway.Shewasno ordinary woman. Therewas a power about her, hehad to admit. She stillfascinated him as she had inthe beginning of theirrelationship and it wasbecause of Eleanor that hefelt a need to keep

Rosamund’s existence asecret.

He could not stay long orhe would be missed andspeculationwouldberife.

Therewas tobeameetingof the Great Council and hehad summoned this toWoodstock in order that hemight enjoy a brief respitewith Rosamund. Now hereluctantly said farewell toherandwentbacktotakepart

init.

Here a difference arosebetween the King andThomas. It was not a matterofgreatmoment,butitwasasign of what was to come,like the rumble of distantthunder of an approachingstorm.

The problem of raisingtaxes was always a pressingone. Henry was notextravagant in his personal

life;butheneededaconstantsupply ofmoney to keep hisarmies in readiness, that hemight go into action if needbe at home in England andmostcertainlyhewouldhaveat some time tomaintain hisoverseaspossessions.

It was the customthroughoutthecountrytopaya tax which was quite smallto the sheriff of the district.This had been in existence

before the Norman conquestandHenry proposed that thistax instead of being paid tothe sheriffs should come tothenationalexchequer.

There was an outcryamong the landowners. Thesheriffs were appointed bythe King whom they paidhandsomely for theirappointments. Because ofthese taxes collected fromeverymanwhoownedlandin

theirareatheygrewrichveryquickly.

Thomassaidthat if thetaxwas paid into the exchequerthe sheriffs would demand itbe paid to them also, so thatany man who owned landwould in effect be paying adoubletax.

He had a great followingandhedidnotthinkhewouldhaveanydifficultyinmakingtheKingseehispoint.

Henry, however, aware ofthe sly comments of theQueenwhohadhintedthathewasreadytobeguidedbyhisArchbishop, decided that hewould not give way in thisissue.

Thomas’svast lands in theSeeofCanterburygavehimabiginterestinthematter,andhe spoke in favour of thelandowners.

‘Saving your pleasure, my

lord King,’ he told Henry attheCouncil,‘wewillnotpaythesemoniesasatax.’

How dared Thomas defyhim!Howdared he stand upbefore the Council anddeliberately state that hewould not do what the Kingdemanded!

‘ByGod’s eyes,’ cried theKing, using the oath hefavouredwhenhisangerwasmounting that it might be a

warning to any who heard itnot to provoke him further,‘they shall be paid as a taxand entered in the King’sbooks.’

‘Out of reverence for thesame eyes,’ replied Thomas,‘theywill not bepaidonmyland, and not a penny fromany land which, by law,belongstotheChurch.’

Here - even on such asmall matter - was the

conflict between Church andStateshowingitself.

Henry knew that he hadlost.TheChurchhaditslawsoutsidetheState.

Eleanor affected to beamusedbytheoutcome.

‘ItwouldseemyourcleverArchbishop has more powerthantheKing.’

‘ItisthismatterofthelawoftheChurchagainstthelaw

oftheState,’hegrumbled.

‘It is time that waschanged,’ said Eleanor. ‘Isthe King the ruler of hiscountry or is the Archbishopof Canterbury?’ She did nothelptosoothehisresentment.

Itwas inevitable that anothercause for friction shouldarise. This took place verysoon after the affair of thesheriff’stax.

Ifamemberof theChurchcommitted a crime he wastried not by theKing’s courtof law but by a court set upby the Church. This was amatter which had longrankled among the highofficials of the State. It wassaid that the courts setupbythe Church were too lenientwith theirmembers, and thatamuchlessharshpunishmentwas meted out to offendersthan was the case in the

secularcourt.

ThecaseofPhilipdeBroiswasanexample.

Thismanwasacanonwhohad been accused ofmurderingasoldier.Thishadtakenplacesometimebefore,when Theobald wasArchbishop and the diocesancourtwhichhadtriedhimhadfound him not guilty andacquittedhim.

The matter was notallowedtorest.Fromtimetotime the King’s travellingjudgesvisitedvariouspartsofthecountryinordertotryandpass sentence on those whohadcommittedcrimes.ItwasthisorderinstitutedbyHenrywhich had broughtconsiderablelawandordertothe country and made theroadssafefortravellers.

Several men who were

convinced of the guilt ofPhilip deBrois captured himand brought him before theKing’s Judge Simon Fitz-Peter.

De Brois, believing hiscase to have been settled,defiedtheCourt.Asacanon,he said, theKing’s justiciaryhad no power over him andhe demanded his release. Hequoted the law and wasreleased.

When the matter wasreported to Henry he wasfurious.

‘The King’s justice hasbeen insulted,’ he cried. ‘I’llnot allow this to pass. Thatman shall be taken andbrought to trialandhis judgeshall bemy justiciary SimonFitz-Peter.We shall see howhefaresthen.’

News of what washappening was then brought

toThomasatCanterbury.Hewas still saddened by thematter of the sheriff ‘s tax.These conflicts betweenhimself and the King he hadforeseen, and now there wasthis matter of the accusedcanon.

Hewas convinced that thelawoftheChurchmuststand,even though it angered theKing.Theyhadarguedaboutit in the old days, but good-

humouredly. Now it was amatterofputtingtheirbeliefsintopractice.

TheKinghadalwayssaid:‘The State should besupreme.’

And Thomas: ‘In allmattersbutwhereitinfringesonthelawoftheChurch.’

‘Is the Pope then ruler ofEngland?’ Henry haddemanded.

‘The Pope is head of theChurchwhereveritmaybe.’

Thomas knew how thatrankled! Henry was not thefirstkingtoseektothrowofftherestraint.

‘Philip de Brois cannot betriedbytheKing’sjusticiary,’declared Thomas. ‘But sincethe King demands anothertrial he shall be tried in myowncourtatCanterbury.’

The King was powerless.HeknewthatThomashadthelawoftheChurchonhissideand until that was altered hemustgiveway.

The second time in a fewmonths!Thiswaswhatcameof making Thomas BecketArchbishopofCanterbury.

At thecourtofCanterburyPhilip de Brois was againacquitted of murder but forhis contempt of the King’s

court hewas sentenced tobeflogged.Healsohadtoforfeittwo years of his salary fromtheChurch.

‘So,’ cried the King, ‘theArchbishop of Canterburyallows his clerics to murderastheywill.’

‘In the Archbishop ofCanterbury’s court Philip deBrois was acquitted ofmurder,’ was Thomas’sanswer.

‘One law for thechurchman, one for thelayman,’ cried theKing. ‘ByGod, I’ll have justice in myland.’

He was however a littleappeased by the sentencewhich had been passed onPhilip de Brois. At least itshowed that the Church hadsome respect for the King’scourt.

Buttheriftwasgrowing.

TheKing,urgedonbyhiswife and mother, determinedto take his battle against theChurchastepfurther.

He called together acouncilatWestminsterandatthis declared that if a clericwas guilty of a crime heshould be given over to theKing’s officers to bepunished. He demanded thatthe bishops support him onthis point for he was

determined to maintain lawand order in the land. Theforce with which headdressed the company gavenodoubtofthedeterminationwithwhich he backed up hisdemands;andeveryoneknewthat this was a direct stab atThomasBecket.

The Archbishop of York,thatRogerdePontL’Evequewho during their sojourn inTheobald’s household had

hatedThomasbecausehewasjealous of him, saw anopportunity of doingconsiderableharmtothemanwho had now risen to thehighest peak of power in theChurch.

Rogerhadwatchedtheriseof Thomas; he had gnashedhis teeth over the stories oftheKing’s lovefor thatman;he had heard how they hadroamed the country together,

behaving as some said liketwo schoolboys, how theyshared games and jokes andbehaved like brothers. Itwasvery galling to a man ofRoger’s ambition to seeThomasBecketrisesohigh.

He saw now a chance ofcontributing to his fall, for ifthe King had once lovedBecket, he was at this timeirritated by his recentbehaviour.

The members of theChurch met to discuss theKing’s ultimatum and thethree chief of them wereRoger of York, Hilary ofChichester andGilbert Foliotof London. Right or wrong,Roger had decided that hewould stand against theArchbishop. He persuadedthebishopsthattheymustdothis, for the King was toostrongforthem.

Thomas summoned themtoCanterbury.

‘Youarefoolish!’hecried.‘What means this? It is theChurch’s ruling that a mancannot be punished twice forthesamecrime.Thelibertyofthe Church is involved inthis.’

‘Ofwhat use is the libertyof the Church, if the Churchitselfshouldperish?’

‘Youarebewitched,’ criedThomas. ‘Are we to add sintosin?It iswhen theChurchisintroubleandnotmerelyintimes of peace that a bishopshoulddaretodohisduty.Inthe old days men gave theirbloodfortheChurchandnowtheymust be prepared to dieif need be in defence of theChurch’s liberty. By God, Iswearthatitisnotsafeforusto leave that form which wehave received from our

fathers. We cannot exposeanyone to death for we arenot allowed to take part inanytrialoflifeanddeath,andif wewere to pass aman oftheChurchovertothesecularcourttheycouldsentencehimtodeath.’

Roger had to admit thepower of the man and hecouldnotpersuadetheotherstostandoutagainsthim.

Henryplungedintoanother

ofhisviolentrages.

‘Iwillhaveobedience,’heshouted. ‘I will not allowthese clerics to defy mebecause of their cloth. I willhave them swear, man byman, that they obey royalcustomsinallthings.’

He sent for the bishops,including the one he calledtheirmaster-ThomasBecket,ArchbishopofCanterbury.

When they were gatheredtogetherheragedbeforethemin suchamanner as to striketerror into all their hearts -except that of Thomas. Hehadseenthoseragesbefore.

OhHenry,hethought,howfar we have grown apart. Iknew it was the end of ourfriendship when I becameyourArchbishop.

Henry was saddened too.How different it used to be,

Thomas! he thought. Youwere my friend when youwere my Chancellor.Everything you did was formygood.Youlovedme;youservedmewell.Andnowyouset yourself against me. Youhave another master, yourChurch. I’ll get you back,Thomas.I’llforceyouback.

‘I will not speak to youcollectively,’ declared theKing,‘butseparately.’

He was gleeful. That wasclever.Singlyhecouldstriketerror into their miserablehearts.

One by one the bishopsgave way; Roger cynically,his eyes on futureadvancement at the timewhen Thomas was disgracedand sent into exile, orwhatever fate the King hadreservedforhim,forthenhisplacewouldbevacantandthe

King would give it to onewho knew where hisadvantagelay.

Thomas could have weptwithsorrow.Thebishopshadbetrayed the Church. Ofcourse he knew how violentHenrycouldbewhenhewasfighting forhisownway.Hecouldunderstandwhatveiledthreatswereuttered;heknewexactly how those defaultingbishops would make peace

withtheirconsciences.

AndthenThomas?

‘So you will not swear toserve your King?’ demandedHenry.

‘Iwillgivehimall earthlyhonour saving my order,’answeredThomas.

The King might rave andrantbuthewouldnotswervefrom that. Thomas remainedadamant,andfinallytheKing

strodeoutingreatanger.

In his private chamber hesentforhissecretary.

‘Write to the Archbishopof Canterbury,’ hecommanded. ‘Say that anyposts, honours and landwhich came into hispossession when he wasChancellor of this realm areto be resigned tomewithoutdelay.’

Thesecretarycompliedandthe King felt a little eased.That would show Thomaswhat it meant to defy hismaster. Thomas loved hisluxurioushouses;helovedallthe pomp that went withthem.Verywell,heshoulddowithoutthem.

Thomas immediatelycomplied with the King’sdemands.

‘That is settled then,’ said

Henry.

The King made it clear thathe had not done with thismatter, but meanwhileanother had arisen whichgave him great cause forannoyance.

His brother Geoffrey wasdead but his younger brotherWilliamstill livedandHenrywas eager tomake provisionfor him. A young brother

roaming the kingdom ofEngland or the dukedom ofNormandy could come tomischief.

Hehadoftendiscussedthismatter with his mother andthey had decided that whenan opportunity occurred forWilliam to marryadvantageously, he shouldtakeit.

The opportunity came.King Stephen’s son William

had died in the service ofHenry. His widow, theCountess ofWarenne, was avery rich woman. Here wasWilliam’s chance, decidedHenry.

He called William to himand told him of his plans;Williamdecidedthathemustfirstseetheladyandbecomeacquainted with her beforeshe knew that a match hadbeen suggested between

them.

Henrywasnothingloathtoa little romantic behaviourand when William came tohim and told him that heloved the Countess ofWarenne deeply, Henry wasdelighted.

‘The marriage should notbe delayed,’ said the King,‘for the sooner the Warenneestates are securely in thefamilythebetter.’

Opposition came from aquarter from which Henrywas now becomingaccustomedtogettingit.

The Archbishop ofCanterbury pointed out thatWilliam Plantagenet andWilliam of Blois had beensecond cousins; therefore themarriage of a widow of onetotheotherwasnotlegal.

Henry cursed themeddlesome Archbishop but

in view of the fact that hisown wife had obtained adivorce on the grounds ofconsanguinity with Louis ofFrance,hecouldnotdemur.

He kept the Countess’sestates in the family bymarryingherofftooneofhisillegitimate half-brothers, buthewasveryangry.

So was his brotherWilliam. He declared hewould no longer stay in a

country which was ruled byan archbishop, and went tojoinhismotherinNormandy.

Matilda and he agreedabout the character ofThomas Becket, andMatildawhipped up William’sresentmenttofury.Henryhadbeenafool,asshehadalwayssaid, to favour the man. Heshould have known that topick a Chancellor out of thegutterwasfolly.Shehadover

the years exaggeratedBecket’slowlyorigins.Ithadalways been a characteristicof hers to make the facts fither case. Thomas Becketwould ruin the country shewas sure.Henry should sendhimintoexileandthesoonerheappointedanotherPrimatethebetter.

She would not let thematter rest. She discussed itday after day with her son

untilitseemedtohimthathehadlosteverythingthatmadelife worth living. When hecaughtacoldhisspiritswereso low that he could notthrowitoffanditaffectedhischest.

In the draughty castle hegrew very ill and in hisdelirium he talked of theCountess of Warenne andhow he no longer wished tolive because he had been

unabletomarryher.

When he died Matilda,wild with grief, proclaimedthat Thomas Becket hadkilledherson.

She wrote at once toHenry.

‘Yourbrotherisdead.Lifewas no longer worth livingfor him when he lost thewoman he loved. YourArchbishophasdonethis.’

When the news reachedHenryhewasstunned.

William was but a youngman - younger than he was!And he was dead! Was itpossible to die of love? Hismotherdeclareditwas.‘Ifhehad been allowed to marrythe woman he loved thiswould never have happenedtohim,’sheinsisted.

Nor would it, thoughtHenry. His wife would have

cared for him for she lovedhim. But Thomas Becketwould not permit themarriage to take place, andnow my brother William isdead!

You have a lot to answerfor, ThomasBecket, and thisis something I shall neverforgetnorforgive.

ChapterXII

THEKING’STRIUMPH

Henry could not stopthinking of Becket.Sometimes he would awakefrom a dream in which theyhad been the friends they

used to be when they wereKing and Chancellortogether.Noonecouldamusehim as Becket had done. Hecould find little pleasure inthe company of others. EvenatWoodstock he would findhimselfthinkingofBecket.

The man seemeddetermined to plague him.What had happened to him?He had grown serious - thechurchman had completely

superseded the gay reveller,for Becket had been gay.Howhehadlovedtositathistable and look at the fineplate he possessed and themagnificent livery of hisservants! If he himself atefrugallyanddranklittleithadnotmattered.Ithadbeenpartoftheeccentricityofthemanwhich Henry had found soattractive.

Was there a way, he

wondered, in which theycould be reconciled? If onlyBecketwouldgivewaytohiswishes the whole Churchwouldfollowhim.AsforthePope,hewasnotintoohappya position and could makelittle trouble. Henry couldreform the Church in hiscountry andAlexander couldnot afford to raise a voiceagainsthim.

He decided to seeThomas

and he sent a command forhim to meet him atNorthampton.

When the King arrivedwithhisgreat retinuehesentamessage toThomas to staywherehewas,foritwouldbeimpossible for the town toaccommodate two greatparties such as theirs wouldbe.

And I doubt not, thoughtthe King angrily, that your

partyisasgrandandasgreatasmine for youwere ever alover of ostentation, myArchbishop.

They met in a field andThomas rode his horse tomeet that of the King. For amoment they remainedlookingateachother,andtheknowledge of the greatfriendship which had oncebeen theirs swept over themboth so that it was an

emotionalmoment.

Then the King said:‘Dismount.Wewillwalkandtalk.’

ThistheydidandtheKingtook Thomas’s arm as hesaid, ‘I marvel you haveforgotten all the favours Ihave shown you. I wonderhow you could be soungratefulastoopposemeineverything.’

‘My lord, I am notungrateful for favoursreceived from you alone norfrom God through you. Iwould never resist your willaslongasitisalsothewillofGod. You are my lord. ButGod is your Lord and minealsoanditwouldbegoodforneitherofusifIshouldleaveHis will for yours. One daywe shall both stand beforeHimtobejudged.’

The King made animpatient movement butThomas would not besilenced. He went on: ‘StPetersayswemustobeyGodrather than man. Andalthough I would obey thewishesofmyKingwheneveritwaspossibleIcouldnotdoso if they went against mydutytoGod.’

‘Pray do not preach mesermons,’ retorted Henry. ‘I

havenotcomehereforthat.’

‘I do not intend to preach,mylord,onlytotellyouwhatismymind concerning thesematters.’

‘And what think you is inmy mind? Is the King to betutoredbyoneofhisrustics?’

‘You refer to my humblebirth.ItistrueIamnotroyal.St Peter was not royal eitherbutGodgavehimthekeysof

Heaven and made him theheadoftheCatholicChurch.’

‘That is true,’ said theKing. ‘But then he died forhisLord.’

‘I will die for my Lordwhenthetimecomes.’

‘You have risen high andyouthinkthatbecauseofthiswhich has come to youthroughmygoodnessyouareof such importance that you

maydefyme.Donottrusttoomuchinmyfriendship.’

‘I trust in the Lord,’ saidThomas soberly, ‘for foolishis themanwhoputshis trustinmen.’

‘Enough of this, Thomas.Wearealmostinagreement.Ijust wish you to swear toserveyourKing.’

‘So will I, but only whenservinghimdoesnotconflict

withthewillofGod.’

‘Onlywhen…! Iwillnothave conditions. Swear toserveyourKing.’

‘Icouldnot…withoutthatcondition.’

‘Ihavetriedtoreasonwithyou, but you will not bereasonedwith.Becauseofthefriendship Ionce felt foryouand could feel again, I havemet you here. I wished to

speak to you in person. I amoffering to accept you again,Thomas, that things may beas they once were beforebetweenus.Ihavebeenfondof you. I miss you. Do youremember how amusing lifewaswhenwewere together?ComeThomas.All you havetodoissayafewwords.Saythem,Thomas,andallwillbewell.’

‘I cannot say what you

wish,my lord, for as I see ittodosowouldbetodenymyGod.’

‘Aplagueonyoursermonsandaplagueonyou,Becket.I have raised you up. Socould I put you back. Thinkofthat,rustic.AndrememberyoustandagainsttheKing.’

WiththatheturnedandleftThomas.

There was only one thing tobe done and that was toappealtothePope.InFrancenews of the conflict betweenKing and Archbishop hadalready been received. Louissent lettersof encouragementto Thomas and hinted that ifhe should find it impossibleto go on living in EnglandtherewouldbeawelcomeforhiminFrance.

The position of the Pope

was not a very happy one.TheEmperorofGermanyhadjoined forces with his rivaland had forced Alexander toleave Italy. He was nowresiding uneasily in France.He was afraid to offendHenry as he had been onother occasions.At the sametimehebelievedthatThomaswasintheright.

ButitcametohisearsthatHenry Plantagenet had

uttered threats against himand because of his veryprecarious position he couldnot face any opposition fromthat quarter. Wanting toapplaud Becket he must yetplacate the King, who hadalreadywrittenhisaccountofthematter.

The Pope wouldunderstand,wroteHenry,thata King could not toleratewhat appeared to be

disobedience in any of hissubjects be they priests ormerchants.Allhewishedwasa statement from theArchbishop to the effect thathewouldservehisKinginallways, and this he must havefor the sake of his kinglydignity.Neither thePopenortheArchbishopmustthinkforone moment that he wouldtake advantage of this. Hewanted to see a strongChurch. He knew full well

that it was their religiousbeliefs that kept menvirtuous. Did they think hewanted a nation of thievesand robbers and irreligiousmen? Not he! But a kingcould not have it be knownthat some of his subjectsbelievedtheycoulddefyhim;ay, and had boasted of it inpublic.

ThePopewrotetoThomasto the effect that he believed

there should be moderationand submission for thus hewas sure that Thomas couldavert great trouble whichwould bring no good to theChurch. He commandedThomastosubmittotheKingfor,headded,hebelievedtheKing would accept nothingelseandthiswasnotthetimefortheChurchtoquarrelwiththeKingofEngland.

When he received this

letter,Thomaswasastonishedanddepressed.HemustobeythePope.

He discovered that theKingwas atWoodstock, andthere in his palace Henryagreedtoseehim.

Henrywasinagoodmood.He invariably was atWoodstock, and when heheard that Thomas wasasking for an audience hereceivedhimatonce.

‘Well,Thomas?’

‘My lord, I have heardfromHisHoliness.’

‘And what instructionshave you had from him?’askedtheKing.

‘HetellsmethatImustdoas youwish. Imust agree toserveyouwholeheartedly.’

‘Ah,’ said the King. ‘Soourlittletroubleisover.Youhave decided to pay me the

homageduetoyourKing?’

‘The Pope has sent hiscommand.’

‘He had wisdom enoughfor that,’ said Henry with alaugh.

‘Icannotdisobeyhim.’

‘But you don’t agree withhim?’criedHenry.

‘IthinkIwasrightinwhatIdid.’

‘But you will nowwithdraw.Thatisbetter.YouwillswearabsoluteallegiancetoyourKing.’

‘I do,’ saidThomas, ‘for Iam instructed by the Popethat this assurance is only topreserveyourdignityandyouwill not put into action anyreforms regarding theChurch.’

‘You have sworn,Thomas.’

‘Yes,mylord.’

‘That is good. You havesworn to me in private, butbecause you declared yourdisobedience in public, inpublic must you swear yourallegiance.Farewell,Thomas.We shall meet soon. I shallsummon you to Clarendonwhere you may make youroathofsubmissionpublicly.’

No sooner had Thomas

receivedtheKing’ssummonstoClarendonthanhebegantoquestionwhathehaddone.

ThePopewasinadifficultposition; he had advised himto submit to Henry becausehe feared the King’santagonism. Thomas shouldnever have taken his advice.He knew Henry well. Whoshould know him better?DuringtheyearswhenhehadbeenhisChancellorand they

had roamed the countrysidetogether he had becomefamiliarwith every twist andturn of that violent nature.WhenHenryhadmadeuphismind to have something, hewas going to have it. Hewould lie, cheat, fight,threaten to do anything toobtain it.He had no scruplesand now itwas clear that hehadmade a vow that hewasgoing to subduehisone-timefriendandChancellor.Hehad

to showThomas that hewashis superior. It had alwaysbeen so in their games andpractical jokes.Henrylikedagoodadversary thathemightgleanmoregloryinvictory.

His promises that he hadnowish to interfere with theChurch meant nothing. Ofcoursehewanted to interferewith the Church. He wantedto bring it to heel as he didhis dogs. He was going to

make the Church serve theState. He might pay lipservice to the Pope, buteveryone in the kingdom bethey bishops or archbishopsmust learn that he wasmaster.

AndThomas had privatelyagreedtoaccepthisruleinallmatters - because a weakPopehadbeenafraidtoorderhimtodootherwise.

Thomasspenthoursonhis

kneesinprayer.Hishairshirttorturedhim,evenmore thanit would most men for hispoor circulation made hisskin extra sensitive. Yet hedid this penance in the hopethathemightexpiatehissinsand win God’s help. Hethought of his pride whenRicher de L’Aigle had takenhim toPevensey,and the joyhehadfoundinlivingthelifeofanobleman.Hethoughtofhis rich garments, his cloaks

lined with fur, his velvetdoublets, the delight he hadtaken in being the King’sconstant companion. Earthlyvanity thathadbeen.Washebeing asked to pay for itnow?

AssoonashehadbecomeArchbishop ofCanterbury hehad changed. His love ofluxuryhadabated forhehadseen the folly of it. Heremembered how he had

turned his face fromCanterbury,howhehad triedso hard not to take the post,for he knew it would be anendtothemerrylife.

And now his feet werefirmlyplacedonapathwhichhemustfollow,foritwashisdestiny.

He trusted thatGodwouldshow him what to do atClarendon for he knew whathappened there was going to

affect his future for good orill.

In the great hall, Henrywasseatedinthecentreofthedaisandonhis lefthandwashis son, young Henry, whowasnineyearsold.

Theboy’seyeslitupatthesight of Thomas and theArchbishop’s heart warmedto him. There was one wholoved him. He did not meettheKing’s eyes but he knew

that the elderHenrywatchedhimcovertly.

As Primate he took theplaceontherighthandoftheKing - the second mostimportant post in thekingdom. There were thebishops all assembled andamong them the Archbishopof York, Roger de Pontl’Eveque. Roger could nothide his satisfaction. Hewould be remembering the

old days in the household ofTheobald when a certainyoung man - not of noblebirth - had joined the youngmen there and won the oldArchbishop’s affection asnone of the others had done.Roger had done his best toappease his envy by gettingThomas expelled; he hadsucceeded in this on twooccasions but when Thomashad been recalled he was inhigherfavourthanever.How

envious Roger must havebeen when he heard of theKing’s friendship with themanhehated!Peopleusedtosay in those days: The Kingloves the Chancellor morethananyotherlivingbeing.

And now here wastriumph, for everyone in thathall knew that theyhadbeenassembled to witness thepublic humiliation of theKing’s one-time beloved

friend.

Yet Thomas had hissympathisers there - mellowmen, men of integrity. Onewas Henry of Winchester,brother of King Stephen, amanwhohadoncehadgreatambitions, but who had longdiscardedthemrealisingtheiremptiness. He knew thenatureoftheKingandthatofThomas too. The Earl ofLeicesterandRicharddeLuci

were good honest men whoserved the King well. Theywould not go against Henrybut they did not wish to seesuchamanasThomasBeckethumiliated. They understoodhis scruples and applaudedthemandwouldrather that ithadnotbeennecessarytocallthismeeting.

If Thomas knew theKing,the King knew Thomas. Hewas well aware that Thomas

had given him his verbalpromise because as achurchman he had believedhemustobeythePope.Itwasa slip, Thomas, thought theKing exultantly. Your poorweak Pope trembled for hisown skin, and you fell intothe trap.Andnowyou regretit.Andyoucanwellrefusetotaketheoathinpublic.AndIknow youwell. I know youreloquence. I know that youcould sway a multitude to

your way of thinking. Lookaround thehall,Thomas.Seethe armed men I have hadstationed here. Others seethem. They will know forwhat purpose they are here.Thereisnotamaninthishallwho would dare offend hisKing, Thomas. Exceptperhaps you. Consider thefollyofit,Thomas.

He himself opened themeeting.

The Archbishop ofCanterbury, he said, hadcometoswearbeforethemallthathewouldunconditionallyservehisKing.

Thomasrosefromhisseat.

‘My lord,’ he said. ‘I willsweartoservemyKingwhenthat service does not conflictwithmydutytotheChurch.’

The King’s face wasscarlet, his eyes blazed and

every man in the hall saveThomas trembled. Thomasfelt only exultation, for hehad done what he believedwas right.Hehad feared thatin that assembly he mighthave quailed, but he hadcome through safely, and hefelthewassustainedbyGod.

Henry’s fury broke forth.Sogreatwashis rage thathewas incoherent. He couldonly fling abuse at his

Archbishop. Thomasremained calm and pale asthough he did not hear theKing.

Nor did he. He wasthinking,Ihavetakenthefirststep.WhateverhappenstomeI must accept. If it is deaththenitwillsoonbeoverandIshall have died for God andtheChurch.

The King suddenly strodeoutofthehall.Hissontooka

tremblinglookatThomasandfollowedhim.Thomascaughtthe cynical eye of theArchbishop of York, who inthose seconds could notdisguisehispleasure.

Thomas made his way tohis lodging that he mightmeditateandprayforstrengthto go on as he had begun. Itwasnot longbeforeJoceline,Bishop of Salisbury andRoger, Bishop of Worcester

calledonhim.

‘Comein,myfriends,’saidThomas.

Theycameinandregardedhimwithfearfuleyes.

‘Weimploreyou,mylord,’said theBishop of Salisbury,‘tomakeyourpeacewiththeKing.’

‘Idonotwishtobeatwarwith the King,’ answeredThomas.

‘He will kill us all if youdo not take the oath, mylord.’

‘Thenwemust die. Itwillnotbethefirst timethatmenhave died for the Church ofGod.Countlesshostsofsaintshave taught us by word andexample: God’s will bedone.’

‘Youhaveseen theKing’smood. You saw the armedmenwhofilledthehall.’

‘Isawthem,’saidThomas.‘Pray for courage. It may bethatourhourhascome.Ifso,ouronlyfearmustbethatwemay lack the courage to faceit.Prayforthatcourage.Godwillnotfailyou.’

Theywentawaysorrowingand in great fear.Then camethe Earl of Leicester and theKing’s uncle, the Earl ofCornwall.

‘The King considers

himself to have beeninsulted,’ said Leicester. ‘Hedeclareshewillbeavenged.’

‘Then avenged he mustbe.’

‘You have only to swearthat you will give absoluteobediencetotheKing.’

‘I am a man of theChurch.’

‘The King declares thatyou have promised him in

privatetoservehim.’

‘I told him that the Popehadadvisedmeto.’

‘We advise you too, mylord.Weareyourfriends.Wedeplore this quarrel betweenyouandtheKing.’

‘IknowyoutobemygoodfriendsandIthankyouforit.Iknowyoutobewisemen.Itis easy for you to swear toserve the King absolutely

because you have not givenyourallegiancetotheChurch.I have told the King that Iwillobeyhiminall temporalmatters. It is only when hiswill conflicts with that ofHoly Church that I mustdisobey him and follow mytrueMaster.’

‘The King is in an uglymood.’

‘Iknow thosemoodswell.Many timeshaveIwitnessed

them.’

‘Never before were theydirected in earnest againstyou.’

‘I know that theKing is amanwhowillnotbecrossed.He will have what he wantsand if he wants my blood Idoubtnotthathewillhaveit.’

‘He does not want yourblood,onlyyourobedience.’

‘But if I cannot give him

whatheasks?’

‘Wefear,my lord, thatwemaybecalledupontodoyoutodeath.Thatwouldtousbeacrime,butwemustperforcecommit it if it is the King’scommandthatweshould.’

‘Ah, gentlemen, that is amatterforyourconsciences.’

‘If you would but swear…’

‘Nay, my lords. That is

somethingIcannotdo.Leaveme now. Go to the quiet ofyour chambers and pray thatwhen your hour of decisioncomesGodwillenableyoutodowhatisright.’

Thomas was still on hisknees when there was yetanother visitor. This was theGrandMaster of the EnglishTemplars, Richard ofHastings, andwithhimcameanother of the Templars,

HostesofBoulogne.

These were holy men andThomas trusted them. TheywereintheKing’sconfidenceandassuredThomasthattheyknew his mind and that hehadtalkedtothemofhistruefeelings.

‘The King has a deepaffection for you still, mylord Archbishop,’ saidRichard of Hastings. ‘Hewishesustobehismediators.

He says you will readilyunderstand the position inwhichbythestubbornnessofyour determination and theviolence of his temper youhavebeenplaced.Thismatterhasgonesofarthathecannotretreat. It would seem weakinaking,whohavingshownwhathesaysheisdeterminedto have, to accept somethingless.Hehas sworn tous thathe wishes only to have youroathinpublicandifyouwill

give it he will not tamperwiththelawsoftheChurch.’

‘Is this indeed so?’ askedThomas.

‘Hehasswornitisso.’

‘He does not always keephispromises.’

‘He has asked what goodwouldcometotherealmifhehad an open quarrelwith theChurch. What harm wouldcomeifhequarrelledwithhis

Primate so as to make a riftbetween the State and theChurch? The King wants areconciliation with you. Ifyouwillbutreturntothehalland give him what he wantsyou need have no fear. TheKinghasgivenhisword.Butyou must swear in public totake the oath of absoluteobediencetotheCrown.’

‘You have indeed comefromtheKing?’

‘Wehaveindeed.’

‘Andhehas sworn that hewillkeep tohispromisesnotto interfere in Churchmatters?’

‘Hehassworn.’

‘Then I will send for mybishopsand tell them thatonyour advice and assurances Icanmakethisoathinpublic.’

Thomas returned to the hall.

The Archbishop of Yorkwatched him cynically whiletheotherslookedasthoughagreat burden had fallen fromtheirshoulders.

The King was almostmerry. His eyes were kindlyand full of affection as heturned to his Archbishop ofCanterbury.

Thomasrosetohisfeetandsworetotheassemblythathewould obey the customs of

therealmingoodfaith.

‘You have all heard whattheArchbishop has promisedmeonhisownpart,’criedtheKinginaloudvoice.‘Nowitonly remains that at hisbidding the other bishopsshoulddothesame.’

‘I will that they satisfyyourhonour as I havedone,’saidThomas.

All the bishops rose and

made their promise. OnlyJoceline Bishop of Salisburyhesitated and looked atThomas.

‘What ails you, my lordBishop of Salisbury?’ roaredtheKing.

‘You are sure, my lord,’asked the bishop looking atThomas, ‘that it is right formetotakethisoath?’

‘ByGod’s eyes,’ cried the

King, ‘that man is everagainstme.’

His eyes narrowed and hehad turned to one of hisarmedsoldiers.

Thomassaidquickly:‘Youshouldtaketheoath,mylord,as we all have done.’ Andforthwith Joceline ofSalisburytooktheoath.

‘Now,’ cried the King,‘everyone here has heard the

promises thearchbishopsandbishops have made that thelaws and customs of mykingdomshallbeobserved.Inorder that there may be nofurtherdisputeonthesubject,let my grandfather Henry’slaws be committed towriting.’

The meeting ended intriumphfortheKing.

ChapterXIII

FLIGHTFROMENGLAND

InthegreathallthejusticiaryRichard deLuci read out theclausesofthecodewhichwasknownas theConstitutionofClarendon, and Thomas

realised at once that he hadbeen duped. Henry had hadno more compunction inlyingtotheTemplarsthanhehad to him. He had beenready to promise anything togain his point. SometimesThomasthoughtthatthiswasnot so much a quarrelbetweenChurch andState asa conflict between ThomasBecket and Henry II ofEngland. It was like one ofthegamestheyhadplayedin

thepast,onlythistimeitwasindeadlyearnest.

When the Clerk read outthat clerics were to be triedon all accusations by theKing’s justiciary, Thomascould not forbear crying out:‘This is against the laws ofthe Church. Christ is judgedanew before Pilate.’ Anotherclausestatedthatnoonemustleave the kingdom withouttheKing’sconsent.

‘Thekingdomwillbecomea prison,’ said Thomas.‘What of those who wish togo on holy pilgrimages?WhatofthosemembersoftheChurchwhowere summonedby the Pope to attend acouncil? Would they not beobligedtoobeythePopeevenif the King refusedpermission?’

Therewasworsetofollow.Thereshouldbenoappealsto

the Pope without the King’sconsent.

‘How could an archbishopagree to this?’ demandedThomas. ‘When he receivesthe pallium he takes an oathnot to hinder appeals to thePope.’

As Thomas protested theKing sat glowering at himand when the reading wasover he stood up and in avoiceof thundercried: ‘Now

shall the members of theclergy sign and seal theseconstitutions and theArchbishop of Canterburyshalldosofirst.’

Thomas looked at hisbishops,someofwhomhungtheir heads in shame whileothers, more bold, looked athimappealingly.Tosignandseal such a documentwas todeny their duty. The BishopofSalisburymurmuredthatif

they signed it theywould beguiltyofperjury.

The King looked on. Hisarmed guard was standingalert.Onewordfromhimandthere would be a bloodymassacre.

‘God help me,’ prayedThomas.

Then he said in a clearvoice:‘Weneedtimetostudythis document. I am sure the

Kinginhisgracewillgiveusa few hours to discuss ittogetherinprivate.’

Hepickedupacopy-therewere three - and theArchbishop of York tookanother.

Hemounted his horse andwithhissmallcompanyabouthim, he rode to Winchester.He despised himself. He hadgonetoofaralongtheroadtoplacatingtheKing.Heshould

never have taken the oath inpublic; he should never haveagreed to it in private. Heshould have led his weakerbrethren. He should havedefied the King, invitingdeath.Whatmattered it if hewere done to death? All thatmattered was that he shouldbe faithful to God and theChurch.

Hecouldhearthemembersof his suite discussing the

Constitution.

‘What could he havedone?’ asked one. ‘If he haddefied theKingmore openlyit would have been the endforusall.’

‘Yethashenotendangeredthe liberties of the Church?’askedanother.

His standard-bearer, aWelshman of an impetuousnature, cried out suddenly,

‘Iniquity rages through theland. No one is safe wholoves the truth.Now that thechief has fallen, who willstand?’

‘To whom do you refer?’askedThomas.

‘To you,’ answered theWelshman. ‘You, my lord,who have betrayed yourconscience and your fameand the Church. You haveacted in a manner which is

hateful to God and againstjustice.Youhavejoinedwiththe ministers of Satan tooverthrowtheChurch.’

‘Oh God of Heaven, youare right,’ cried Thomas. ‘IhavebroughttheChurchintoslavery. I came not from thecloister but from the Court,not fromtheschoolofChristbut from Caesar’s service. Ihave been proud and vain. Ihavebeenfoolish.IseethatI

have been deserted by GodandamonlyfittobecastoutoftheHolySee.’

His Archdeacon rode upbesidehim.

‘My lord,’ he said, ‘if youhave fallen low, rise upbravely. Be cautious andstrongandtheLordwillhelpyou.DidHenotmakeDavidgreat and was he not anadultererandamurderer?DidnotPeterdenyHimthriceand

washenotthefounderofHisChurch?YouhavebeenSauland now you are Paul. Youknowwhatyoumustdo.TheLordwillhelpyoudoit.’

‘Youare right,myfriend,’said Thomas. ‘I will startagain.Godwillbebesidemeandneveragainwill I fall solow.IwilldiefortheChurchifneedbe.’

There seemed tobeonlyone

thing Thomas could do. Hemust see the Pope. He musttell him everything that hadhappened and ask what hemust do next. The King’sedictwas that no one shouldleave thecountrywithouthisconsent.Evensohemustgetaway. The King had ignoredhim but he would notcontinue to do so. Thomasknew that Henry was tryingto shift the power fromCanterbury to York for he

wasawarethatinRogertherewas a man of immenseambitionaswellasanenemyofThomasBecket.

Thomas disguised himselfas a wandering monk andwith a few members of hissuite rode to Romney wherehe had arranged that a boatshouldbewaitingforhim.

He reached the coastwithoutmishapbutsoviolentawindhadblownup that he

was forced to abandon theproject.

He could not remain atRomney but must return toCanterbury, and this he did.But he intended to try againin a clement season, and oneday when the weather wasmildhesetoutagain.

Hisservants,believingthathe had now reached France,were afraid to stay in hispalaceandwiththeexception

of one cleric and his boyservant,theyleft.

They talked awhile of thesad fate of the Archbishopandhowtheman,whomanyhad said had ruled the King,for when he was Chancellorthe King had loved himdearly, was now fallen solow, the lower for havingrisensohigh.

‘Ah,myboy, it isa lessonto us all,’ said the cleric.

‘Now go and make sure thedoorsareshutandboltedthatwe may sleep safely thisnight. In the morning wemustdepart,foritwillnotbelong before the King’s menarrive. They will take awayall the worldly goods of theArchbishop for the Kingwoulddespoilhimnotonlyofhisofficebutofhisgoodsaswell.’

Theboytookalanternand

went to do his master’sbidding, and as he came intothecourtyardinordertoclosetheouterdoorhesawafigureslumped against thewall.Heheld the lantern high andpeered. Then he let out ashriekandrantohismaster.

‘I have seen a ghost,’ hecried. ‘The Archbishop isdead and has come to haunttheplace.’

The cleric took the lantern

andwenttoseeforhimself.

He found no ghost butThomashimself.

‘Mylord,’hesaid,‘youarebackthen?’

‘The sailors who were totaketheboatacrosstoFrancerecognisedme,’saidThomas.‘They would not sail, sofearful were they of theKing’swrath. I see thatGoddoesnotwishmetoescape.’

If this were so then he musttryothermethods.Itoccurredto him that if he could seeHenry, if he could talkreasonably, if he couldremind him of their pastfriendship they might yetcometoanunderstanding.

Heaskedforameetingandsomewhat to his surprise theKing,whowasatWoodstock,agreedtoseehim.

Henry was in a mellowmood. He had spent a fewdays in the company ofRosamund and their twochildren, and these sojournsalwayshadasofteningeffectonhim.

When Henry saw Thomashe noticed how wan he hadbecome.

‘You’ve aged,’ he said.‘You are not the merryrevelleryouoncewere.’

‘Nor are you, my lordKing, the friend who joinedinourfun.’

‘We have had ourdifferences,’answeredHenry,‘and alas they persist. Whydid you attempt to leave thecountry? Is there not roomhereforusboth?’

ThomaslookedattheKingsadly, but Henry would notmeethisgaze.

The King went on: ‘Whyhave you asked for thisaudience?What have you tosaytome?’

‘Ihadhoped,mylord,thatyoumighthavesomething tosaytome.’

‘ThereismuchIwouldsayto you, but first there is onethingthatyoumustsaytome.Have you come to yoursenses,Becket?’

‘IfyoumeanbythathaveIcome to sign and seal theConstitution I can only saynay.’

‘Then go,’ cried the King.‘There is nothingelse Iwanttohearfromyou.’

‘Ihadhopedforthesakeofthepast…’

‘ByGod’s eyes,man,willyou obey my orders or willyou not? Go! Get from my

sight. I will hear one thingfromyouandoneonly.’

Thomas came sorrowingaway.

The Queen had followed theconflict between Becket andHenry with some interest. Itamused her to recall howgreat their friendship hadbeen and how there was atime when Henry preferredthat man’s company to

anyone else’s. It was strangeto think that she had beenjealous of Becket. Whowouldbejealousofhimnow?Poor broken old man. If shewere not so pleased by hisdownfall she could be sorryforhim.

Shewasforty-twoyearsofage now - still a beautifulwoman, still able to attractmen, or so her troubadoursimplied.Theystillsangsongs

to her and she did not feelthat they flattered herovermuch.

Since her marriage withHenry she had not wantedany other man, which wasstrange when she consideredhowheangeredher;but thenperhapsitwasbecausehedidanger her that she found hiscompanysostimulating.

Now when they talkedtogether of Becket, she did

not say to him as hismotherhaddone,‘Itoldyouso.’Shelet him pour out hisdisappointment in that manandfedhisangeragainsthim.It brought them nearertogether.

She often wondered howmany mistresses he hadscattered about the country.Aslongastherewereseveralof them it was not reallyimportant.Theonlythingshe

would not tolerate was ifthere was one who speciallytookhisfancy.

But no! She was sure thiswasnot so.And the fact thatshe could talk to him of theexigenciesofThomasBecketcertainlybrought themclosertogether.

They were passionatelovers at this time, almost asthey had been in the earlydaysoftheirmarriage.Itwas

intriguing that his hatred ofBecket was driving him intoherbed.

He would lie awakesometimes and talk abouthim. He would tell her littleincidentsfromthepastwhichshe had never heard before.How he had often tried totemptBecket to indiscretionswith women and neversucceeded.

‘You didn’t try hard

enough,’shetoldhim.

‘ButIdid.Ievensoughttotrap him.But not he. I don’tbelieve he ever slept with awomaninhislife.’

‘Whatsortofamanishe?’

‘Oh,manlyenough.Hecanride and hawkwith the best.Heisskilledinalltheartsofchivalry.’

‘And where could a rusticlearnsuchthings?’

‘He was always anappealing fellow. Someknight taught him thesethings when he was quite aboy.’

‘He is a schemer. Hewormed his way intoTheobald’s good graces. Ibelieve the Archbishop ofYork could tell you somestories.’

‘I never liked that fellow.Though he’d be loyal to me

rather than to Thomas. He’sambitious. I thought Thomaswas,buthe’schanged.’

‘Youshouldnotallowhimtofloutyou.’

‘He is Archbishop ofCanterbury.Hewouldhavetoresignofhisownvolition.’

‘You should make itimpossibleforhimtoclingtooffice.’

‘Howso?’

‘Isitbeyondyourpowers?You know a good deal ofhow he lived when he wasconstantly in your company.There must have beensomething you could bringagainsthim.’

The King’s eyes shone. ‘Iwilldoit,’hesaid.‘Iwillfindsomething from Roger ofYork, and John theMarshallwill surely contrivesomething.’

‘Then do this, for I doassure you that that man isdeterminedtoplagueyouandwhile he is Archbishop ofCanterbury you will not betrue King of England. Couldyou bear now to hear ofsomething other than theaffairs of your ThomasBecket? Then listen tome. Iampregnantagain.’

The King expressed hispleasure.Hewouldwelcome

an addition to the nursery.Agirl or a boy. He would notmindwhich.

All thesamehismindwasstillonThomasBecket.

AsEleanor said, itwas easy.John theMarshall some timebeforehadclaimedthemanorofPaghamwhichwasononeof the archiepiscopal estates.The case which had beentried in the Archbishop’s

court had been decided inThomas’s favour. Now hecouldhavethecasere-triedinthe King’s court andaccordingly a summons toattend was sent to theArchbishop.

After hismeetingwith theKing, Thomas had grown sosick at heart that he hadbecome ill and had had totake to his bed. He wastherefore unable to obey the

summonsandsentfourofhisknights to the court in hisplace.

This gave John theMarshallachance.To ignoreasummonstocourtshowedacontemptof itand thiswasacrime.

Thomas was ordered toappear before a council atNorthampton to answer theaccusation. When heapproached Northampton a

rider met him with the newsthat the lodgingswhichwerealways at hisdisposal in thattown had been given by theKing to another member ofthecouncil;hemustthereforefindhisownshelter.

Thomas saw then that theKing was determined tohumiliatehim,butfortunatelyhe could go to the SaintAndrew’s Monastery. Stillhoping to bring about a

reconciliation, Thomas wentto the castle to pay hisrespects to the King. HenrywasatMasswhenhearrivedand Thomas was obliged towait in the ante-room for theservice to be over. When itwas, Henry emerged, and asThomas went forward readyto kiss his hand, if it wereextended to him for thispurpose, the King walkedpasthimasthoughhedidnotseehim.

This was indeed the end,thought Thomas. The Kingwould neither receive norlisten to him.Hewas clearlybentonhisdestruction,andifThomas would preserve hislife he must get out of thecountry.

When the Council sat,Thomaswascalledtoaccountfor having held the King’scourt in contempt. Heexplainedthathehadbeenill

and had sent his knights tostandinforhim.ThiswasnotacceptedandafineofPS500wasimposed.

Then came another list ofcharges. PS300 wasdemanded for it was said hehad received this as thewarden of the castles ofBerkhamstead and Eye.Thomas replied that he hadspentthisandmoreinrepairsto the King’s palace of the

Tower of London and farfrom having profited fromany money he had received,he had spent farmore in theKing’sservice.

Thomas’s heartwas heavyforhesaw that theKingwasdetermined to ruin him. Hehad cast back in hismind tothe days of their friendshipwhentheKinghadgivenhimmoneythathemightliveinamanner similar to his own.

Now he demanded that thismoney should be paid back.Moreover Thomas hadreceived revenues fromseveralbishopricsandabbeysand the sum mentioned wassome40,000marks.

It was no use. Thomascould not fight against suchinjustice.When he came outof the council chamber thatday he believed the end wasnear.

The next day he was back.His Archdeacon Herbert hadsaid tohim:‘Mylord,wedonot know what this day willbringforth,butforgetnotthatyou have the power toexcommunicateallthosewhostandagainstyou.’

William FitzStephen, oneofhisfaithfulcanons,replied:‘Our lord would not do that.TheHolyApostlesdidnotdo

itwhen theywere taken.Mylord will pray for them Idoubtnotandforgivethem.’

Thomas laid his hand onFitzStephen’s shoulder andblessedhim.

Thomas was allowed toretiretoaninnerchamberandthere to discuss with hisbishopswhatactionheshouldtake against the chargeswhich were being brought;and finally in great

impatience the King sentsomeofhisbaronstoinquirewhether Thomas Becket wasprepared to give an accountof the money he had spentduringhisChancellorship.

Thomas replied withdignity that he was ready toobey the King in all thingssaving God’s obedience. Hewasnotboundhesaidtogivean account of hisChancellorship and had been

summoned to the court toanswer the charges broughtby John the Marshall andnoneother.

‘I would remind you,’ hesaid,‘thatwhenIwaschosento become Archbishop,beforemyconsecrationIwasdeliveredoverbytheKingtothe Church of Canterbury,freefromallsecularclaims.Iplace my person and theChurch of Canterbury under

theprotectionofGodandthePope.’

WhentheKingheardwhatThomashadsaidhisfurywasobvious and one of hisknightsremindedhimthathisgreat-grandfather, Williamthe Conqueror, had knownhow to tame clerics. Had henot imprisoned Odo, BishopofBayeux,whowashisownbrother?

In the inner chamber,

hearing of the King’s wrath,the bishops believed that theArchbishop would beimprisoned and doubtlesshave his eyes put out. Theyfeared too that theywhohadbeen with Thomas and hadlistened to him and stoodbeside him would suffer alikefate.

ItwastheEarlofLeicester,a man of principle whoclearly had no liking for his

task, who came into thechamber.

‘The King will have youdeliver up your accounts orhear your sentence,’ he toldThomas.

‘Hear me first,’ repliedThomas. ‘You, my lordLeicester,knowfullwell thatI had nowish to become theArchbishop of Canterburyand that itwas theKingwhowilled it. It was for love of

him rather than for love ofGodthatIgaveway,whichiswhy today bothGod and theKing have desertedme. Youknowthatwhen thepostwasgivenme Iwasdeclared freeofallsecularobligations.’

‘I know it,’ answeredLeicester. ‘I would not passjudgementonyou.’

‘Then I am not yourprisoner.’

‘Nay,mylord.’

‘ThenIshallgofromhere.IshallappealtothePope.’

Thomas then rose andpassedoutofthechamber.Ashe went he stumbled oversomefaggotsandalmostfell.Atthatmomentasneerarosein the company and theKing’s bastard brother whowas standing by called,‘Theregoesatraitor.’

Thomas surveyed him insuch a manner that the manquailedbeforehim.

‘If I were a soldier,’ saidThomas,‘withmyownhandsIshouldproveyoufalse.’

Hemounted his horse androdetothemonasteryofSaintAndrew’s.Thereheretiredtohisprivatechapelandspentalong time on his knees, andwhenhewenttotherefectoryhe found that of the forty

knights who hadaccompanied him toNorthampton only sixremained.

‘Yourtableisdepleted,’hesaid sadly, but many poorpeople came into themonastery and begged to beallowedtogazeonthefaceofthe man whom they werecalling the saviour of theChurch, and they wereThomas’sguestsatthatmeal.

When itwas over Thomasasked that his bed should beplaced behind the high altar.Before he retired to it hecalled one of his servants tohim.ThiswasRogerdeBrai,a man whom he knew hecould trust to servehimwithhislife.

‘Roger,’hesaid,‘mylifeisindanger.ItmaybethisnighttheKingwillsendhisguardstotakeme.’

A look of horror crossedRoger’s face. He couldvisualisethefatewhichcouldawait the Archbishop.Incarceration in a dungeon,his eyes perhaps gouged out.Left to live out a dark andwretched existence, for theKing might have qualmsabout murdering theArchbishopofCanterbury.

‘IthinkitisGod’swillthatI should not be taken,’ said

Thomas. ‘If Iwere, the fightwouldbeover.RogerofYorkwouldfall inwith theKing’swishes. Henry is alreadytrying to set York overCanterbury.Thismustnotbe.I am going to get away toFrance… if it isGod’swill.The King of France will bemyfriendandIcanreachthePope.’

‘Whatwouldyouhavemedo,mylord?’

‘Tell Robert de Cave andScailmantobereadytoleavewithme.IcantrustthemasItrust you. Then saddle fourhorses and have them ready.These horses must not comefrom my stables. Take themtothemonasterygateandthethree of you wait there asthoughholdingthehorsesforsomeone who is visiting themonastery. I will join youthere.’

‘It is a rough night, mylord.’

‘I know it. I can hear thewind and rain, Roger. But itistonightornotatall.’

Rogerwentawaytodohisbidding and Thomas went tohisbedbehindthehighaltar.He was conducted there byHerbert his Archdeacon, andwhen they were aloneThomas embraced him andtold him what he had

planned.

‘Itistheonlyway,’agreedHerbert.‘Youmustattempttoescape tonight. Tomorrowmightbetoolate.TheKing’smood is very ugly. Iwondered you were notarrested in the councilchamber.’

‘I know Henry. Hiscourage deserted him at thelast moment. He wantscontrol of the Church but he

isafraidofGod’swrath.Thatmoodwill not last forbeforeanything is his determinationtohavehisownway.Mydeargood friend, I wish you tolose no time in going toCanterbury. Collect whatvaluables you can carry andthen cross the sea. Wait forme there ifyoushouldarrivefirst,whichmaywell be.Goto the monastery of SaintBertin near Saint Omer. Itrust ere long that we shall

meetthere.Nowbegone.Wemustlosenotime.’

TheArchdeaconkissedthehands of his Archbishop,asked for his blessing andwasgone.

The church was quiet. Themonastery slumbered.Thomas rose from his bedandtookoffhisstole.Heputon his black cappa, andtaking only his pallium and

his archiepiscopal seal setout.

Roger with the two laybrothers, Robert andScailman, were waiting withthehorses.

They went through theunguarded gate of the townand rode on to Granthamwheretheyrestedforawhile.After that they reachedLincoln.

Itwas a long and tortuousjourney and every minutethey feared discovery, for sofarhadtheyto travel that theKing’s men might havecaught them in any townwheretheypausedtorest.

But Thomas had loyalsupporters throughout thecountry. Many people knewthat this was a strugglebetween the Church and theStateandthattheKingsought

to set himself in solejudgement over them. Theyknew that Thomas Becketwas a good man. He hadgiven much to the poor; hewas a man of God who haddared defy the King. Theywere already looking uponhim as a saint. There werefew who would not feelhonoured to give him shelterin their houses, and Thomaswas determined to protectthem by denying his identity

whenever it was questioned.Thus he came to the fencountry and finally to thevillage of Eastry close toSandwichandbuteightmilesfromCanterbury.

They stayed for awhile inthe house of a priest whofound a boat for them andkept them in his house untilthe time came when itappearedtheycouldmakethecrossingwithsafety.

Theboatwassmall,theseawas rough, but they couldwaitnolonger.

‘WewillplaceourselvesinGod’s hands,’ said Thomas.‘If it is his will that we livethen we shall and if the seatakes us then that is his willtoo.’

Theysetoff; thelittleboatwas tossed cruelly on thewaves but miraculously itseemedtokeepafloatandthe

very violence of the windblew the boat across thewater. They landed on thesands at Oie, not far fromGravelines.

‘ThankGod,’ criedRoger,butThomaswasnotsurethattheywereoutofdangeryet.

Hewas right because theydiscovered that they were inthe territory which belongedtotheEarlofBoulogne.Thiswas that Matthew who had

married the Abbess ofRomsey, the match whichThomas had opposed.Matthew had borne him agrudge for this, for althoughthe marriage had gonethroughitwasonlyduetotheKing’s cunning that it hadand Thomas had done all inhispowertopreventit.

‘We dare not risk fallinginto the hands of the Earl ofBoulogne,’saidThomas. ‘He

would send me back to theKing.’

Soitwasnousehopingforcomfort. Theymust continuetheirarduous journeyonfootas though they were fouritinerant lay brothers. Untiltheyhadleft therealmof theEarlofBoulogne theywouldnot be safe, and there weremany alarms during thejourney, for the news hadspreadthattheArchbishopof

Canterbury had landed andpeoplelookedoutforhim.

Healmostbetrayedhimselfon one occasion when thethreefootsoretravellerscameupon a party of young menout hawking. In a carelessmoment Thomas showed hisinterestandknowledgeofthehawk on the wrist of theleaderoftheparty.

‘How should a travellinglay brother know of such

things?’ asked the youngman. ‘Bymy faith, I believeyou to be the Archbishop ofCanterbury.’

Scailman,whowasquickerwitted thanRoger or Robert,saidquickly, ‘Youmustbe asimpleton if you imagine theArchbishop of Canterburywouldtravelinthismanner.’

”Tis true,’ said the youngman. ‘I remember when hecame here as the Chancellor

of England. Never had suchmagnificencebeenseen.’

They passed on while theyoung man was telling hiscompanions of the brilliantlycaparisoned horses and thereputed extravagances of theArchbishopofCanterbury.

‘We must take greatercare,’saidScailman.

‘Imust takeheed that Idonot fall into the trap of

betraying myself,’ answeredThomas. ‘But for your quickwits, Brother Scailman, thatcouldhavebeenanawkwardmoment.’

Howthankfulhewastoseethe towers of Clairmarais, amonastery close to SaintOmer. There he was given agreat welcome and amessenger was sent to SaintBertin where Herbert hadalreadyarrived.

Theyembracedeachother,delighted that they hadcompleted the mosthazardous part of theirjourney. But there was notime for delay. Thomasshould rest awhile at SaintBertin and then they mustmaketheirwaytoSoissons.

‘Once we are there,’ saidHerbert, ‘we can make sureof the protection of theKingofFrance.’

Withinafewdaystheyhadreachedthatsanctuary.

ChapterXIV

ROSAMUND’SBOWER

There was a great rejoicingin France for Louis’s wifehad given birth to a son. Amale heir for Francewhen ithad been despaired of. Louis

wasdelighted;alloverFrancethe bells rang out and thenewswasproclaimedthroughthe streets of Paris. He hadfeared that he could begetonlydaughters.

Henryheardthenewswithdespondency. His son HenrywasmarriedtoMargueriteofFranceandhehadhopedthaton the death of Louis, sincetheFrenchKing had then nomaleheir,youngHenrymight

take the crown. He wouldafter all have a certain claimthroughhiswifeandwiththeKingofEnglandandDukeofNormandy behind him, hispowerwouldbegreat.

Alas, fate had decidedagainsthim.

Eleanor shared his chagrinand she herself very shortlyafterwards gave birth to adaughter. They called herJoanna.

Thebirthofhissonseemedto add a new dimension toLouis’scharacter.Hecastoffmuch of his meekness. Hehad a son to plan for now.This showed immediately inhis reception of ThomasBecket towhomheaccordedaverywarmwelcome.

‘It is one of the royaldignities of France to protectfugitives, especially men ofthe Church, from their

persecutors,’ he said. Hewould do everything in hispower to help Thomas reachthePope.

Henry’s feelings wereincomprehensible even tohimself.Hewas half pleasedthatThomashadescaped.Hecouldhavearrestedhiminthecouncilchamber.Whyhadhenotdoneso?heaskedhimselfmany times. Because he didnot want Thomas’s blood on

his hands. The manexasperated him beyondendurance; he set the hotbloodrushingtohishead;andyetatthesametimehecouldnot entirely suppress atenderness for him. Oftenmemories of the old dayswould come crowding intohismind.What fun they hadhad!Noonehadeveramusedhim quite as much asThomas.Whatafoolthemanwas! If only he had been

ready to do what the Kingwished, their friendshipwouldhavegoneonandontoenrichboththeirlives.

He sent his envoys to thecourtofFrancewithgifts forLouis and congratulations,whichLouisknewwerefalse,onthebirthofhisson.

They had come, they said,to speak of the lateArchbishopofCanterbury.

Louiswithsurprisingspiritanswered that he had notknown that Thomas Becketwas the late Archbishop ofCanterbury. ‘I am a Kingeven as theKing of Englandis,’ he went on, ‘yet I havenot the power to depose theleastofmyclerics.’

They realised then thatLouis was not going to behelpful and that Thomas hadindeedfoundasanctuarywith

him.

They asked him if hewould write to the PopeputtingtheKingofEngland’sgrievances to him. Theyremindedhimthatduring theconflictbetweenEnglandandFrance the Archbishop hadworked assiduously againstFrance.

‘It was his duty,’ saidLouis. ‘Had he been mysubject he would have

workedsoforme.’

There was nothing Henrycould do now to prevent thecaseofThomasBecketbeingput before the Pope, and hemadesurethathissideofthecase should be wellrepresented; that old enemyof Thomas’s, Roger,Archbishop of York, wasamonghisemissaries.

The friends Thomas couldsend, headed by Herbert,

were humble in comparison;theyhadnorichgiftstobringto the Pope. The Pope in hisPapal Court at Sens receivedthem with affection howeverandwas deeplymovedwhenhe heard of the suffering ofThomasBecket.

‘He is alive still,’ he said.‘Then I rejoice. He can still,while in the flesh, claim theprivilegeofmartyrdom.’

The next day the Pope

called a meeting and theKing’s embassy and thosewhocamefromThomaswerepresent.

CarefullythePopelistenedtobothsidesofthestoryandlatersentforThomas.

When he was received bythe Pope and his cardinals,Thomas showed them theconstitutions he had broughtfrom Clarendon. The Poperead them with horror and

Thomas confessed his sin inthathehadpromised toobeytheKing and that onlywhenhe had been called to makethe promise in public had herealised that theKinghadnointentionofkeepinghisword.After that he had determinedtostandoutagainstHenrynomatterwhathappened.

‘Yourfaultwasgreat,’saidthePope,‘butyouhavedoneyourbesttoatoneforit.You

have fallen from grace, butmy son, you have risenstronger than you werebefore. I will not give you apenance. You have alreadyexpiated your sin in all thatyouhavesuffered.’

Thomas was determinedthat they should know thecompletetruth.

‘Much evil has fallen onthe Church on my account,’hesaid.‘Iwasthrustintomy

postbytheKing’sfavour,bythedesignofmen,notGod.Igive into your hands, HolyFather,theburdenwhichInolonger have the strength tobear.’

He tried to put thearchiepiscopal ring into thePope’s hands, but the Popewouldnottakeit.

‘Your work for the HolyChurchhasatonedforallthathashappenedtoyou,’hesaid.

‘You will receive the See ofCanterbury fresh from myhands. Rest assured that wehere shall maintain you inyour cause because it is theChurch’s cause. You shouldretire,myson,tosomerefugewhere you can meditate andregain your strength. I willsend you to a monasterywhere you must learn tosubdue the flesh. You havelived in great comfort andluxuryandIwishyoutolearn

to live with privation andpoverty.’

Thomas declared hisburningdesiretodosoanditwas arranged that he shouldfor a while live at theCistercian monastery ofPontigny which was inBurgundy.

Eleanor was once morepregnantandafewdaysafterChristmas in the year 1166

another sonwas born to her.TheycalledhimJohn.

Soonafter thebirthof thissonEleanorbegan towonderwhy the King’s visits toWoodstock always raised hisspirits.Therewasalilt inhisvoicewhenhementionedtheplace.

What, she asked herself,was so special aboutWoodstock? A pleasantenoughplace itwas true, but

the King had many pleasantcastles and palaces. Shedeterminedtofindout.

When Henry was atWoodstock she joined himthere and she noticed that hedisappearedforlongspellsata time, and that when sheasked any of her servantswherehemightbe,shecouldgetnosatisfactoryanswer.

She decided she wouldwatch him very closely

herself and all the time theywere at Woodstock she didthis. One afternoon she wasrewarded for her diligence.Looking from her windowshe saw the King emergingfrom the palace, andhastening from her room sheleft by a door other than theone which he had used, andso before he had gone veryfarshecamefacetofacewithhim.

‘A pleasant day,’ she said,‘onwhichtotakeawalk.’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ heanswered somewhat shiftilyshethought,andwasabouttosay that she wouldaccompany him when shenoticedattachedtohisspuraballofsilk.

She was about to ask himhow he had come by thiswhenshechangedhermind.

Shesaidthatshewasgoingintothepalaceandwouldseehimlater.Heseemedrelievedand kissed her hand and asshe passed him facingtowards the palace shecontrivedtobendswiftlyandpickuptheballofsilk.

Hepassed on and she sawtoheramazementthatapieceof thesilkwasstillcaught inhis spur and that the ballunravelledashewent.

She was very amusedbecause if she could followtheKingatsomedistanceshewould know exactly whichturnhehadtakeninthemazeof trees by following thethread.

Itwasanamusingincidentand ifhediscoveredher theywould laugh about hershadowing him through themazeoftrees.

Then it suddenly occurred

to her. He had been visitingsomeoneearlier. Itmustbeawoman. From whom elseshould he have picked up aballofsilk.

A sudden anger filled her.Another light of love. Heshouldnothavethemsonearthe royal palaces. Shewouldtell him so if she discoveredwhohisnewmistresswas.

Hewasdeepinthethicket,and still he was going

purposefully on. She realisedsuddenly that the endattachedtohisspurhadcomeoff and he was no longerleadingher.Carefully she lettheendofher silk fall to thegroundandfollowed the trailithadleft.TherewasnosignofHenry.

She would leave the silkwhere it lay and retrace herstepstothePalace.Whentheopportunity arose she would

explore the maze and see ifshe could discover whereHenryhadgone.

She was very thoughtfulwhen he returned to thepalace for there was abouthim a look of contentmentwhichshehadnoticedbefore.

The next day Henry wascalled away to Westminsterandshedeclaredherintentionof staying behind atWoodstock for a while.

Immediately she decided toexplore the maze. This shedidand found that the threadof silk was still there. Shefollowed it through the pathsso that she knew she wasgoing the way the King hadgone. Then the silk stoppedbut she could see that thetreeswerethinning.

It did not take her long tofindthedwelling-house.

It was beautiful - a

miniature palace. In thegardensatawoman;shewasembroidering and in a littlebasketbesideher layballsofsilk of the same size andcolour as that which hadattached itself to the King’sspur.

Two young boys wereplaying a ball game on thegrassandeverynowandthenthe woman would look atthem.

Therewassomethingaboutthe appearance of those boyswhich made Eleanor tremblewithanger.

The woman suddenlyseemed to be aware that shewas watched for she lookedupandencounteredtheintenteyes of the Queen fixed onher.Sherose toher feet.Herembroidery fell to the floor.Thetwoboysstoppedplayingandwatched.

Eleanorwenttothewomanandsaid:

‘Whoareyou?’

The woman answered:‘Should Inotask thatofyouwhocometomyhouse?’

‘Ask if youwill. I am theQueen.’

The woman turned pale.She stepped back a pace ortwo and glanced furtively torightandleftasiflookingfor

awayofescape.

Eleanor took her by thearm.‘Youhadbettertellme,’shesaid.

‘IamRosamundClifford.’

Theelderoftheboyscameupandsaid inahigh-pitchedvoice:‘Don’thurtmymother,please.’

‘You are the King’smistress,’saidEleanor.

Rosamund answered,‘Please … not before thechildren.’Then she turned tothe boys and said: ‘Go intothehouse.’

‘Mother, we cannot leaveyouwiththiswoman.’

Eleanorburstoutlaughing.‘I amyourQueen.Youmustobeyme.Gointothehouse.Ihavesomethingtosaytoyourmother.’

‘Yes,go,’saidRosamund.

They went and the twowomenfacedeachother.

‘How long has it beengoing on?’ demandedEleanor.

‘For…forsometime.’

‘And both of those boysarehis?’

Rosamundnodded.

‘I will kill him,’ said

Eleanor.‘Iwillkillyouboth.Soitwastoseeyou…andithas been going on for years,and that iswhy he comes somuch to Woodstock.’ Shetook Rosamund by theshoulders and shook her.‘You insignificant creature.Whatdoesheseeinyou?Isitsimply that you do hisbidding? You would neversaynotohim,neverdisagree,neverbeanythingbutwhathewanted!’ She continued to

shake Rosamund. ‘You littlefool.How long do you thinkitwilllast…’

She stopped. It had lastedfor years. There might beother women but he keptRosamund. He would nothave kept Eleanor if it hadnotbeennecessaryforhimtodo so. She was jealous; shewas furiously jealous of thispink and white beauty, mildasmilkandsweetashoney.

‘Do not think that I shallallowthistogoon,’shesaid.

‘The King wills it,’answered Rosamund with ashowofspirit.

‘And I will that it shouldend.’

‘I have told him that itshouldneverhavebeen…’

‘And yet when he comeshereyoureceivehimwarmly.You cannotwait to take him

to your bed. I know yourkind. Do not think youdeceive me. And he has gottwo boys on you has he not!And promised you all kindsof honours for them I’llswear!Youshallsaygoodbyeto him for you will not seehimmore,Ipromiseyou.’

‘You have spoken to theKing?’

‘Not yet. He knows notthat I have discovered you.

Heiscarefultohideyouhere,is he not?Why? Because heis afraid his wife willdiscoveryou.’

‘Hethoughtitwiserformetoremaininseclusion…’

‘I’ll warrant he did. But Ifound you.One of your sillylittleballsofsilkledmehere.ButIhavefoundyounow…andthiswillbetheend,Itellyou. I’ll not allow it. Andwhat will become, of you,

thinkyou,whentheKinghastired of you? ‘Twere betterthen thatyouhadneverbeenborn.Whydidyou loseyourvirtue to such a man? Youshould havemarried as goodwomen do and broughtchildren to your lawfulhusband. Now what willbecome of you? The bestthing you can do is throwyourselfdownfromthetowerofyourhouse.Whydon’tyoudothat?’

Rosamund stared at her inhorror.

‘Yes. Iwish to seeyoudoitnow.’

‘Icouldnot.’

‘Itisbestforyou.Youareaharlot. It isbetteryouweredead. Iwillbringyoupoisonand you shall drink it. Or Iwill bring you a dagger andyou can pierce your heartwithit.’

Rosamund thought theQueen was mad. There wassuchawildnessinhereyes.

‘Wait … wait,’ beggedRosamund. ‘Wait until theKingreturns.Ifyoukilledmehewouldneverforgiveyou.’

‘Do you think I want hisforgiveness! He is a hardman. A selfish man. A manwho will have his way. Gointo your house. Think ofyoursins.IshouldrepentifI

were you, and the only wayyoucanreceiveforgivenessisto go and sin no more.Tomorrow Iwill come againand by then you will havedecidedwhatyouaregoingtodo.Tonightsayyourprayers,ask forgiveness for yourharlotry, and tomorrow bepreparedtodie.’

Eleanor threw Rosamundfrom her and ran backthrough themaze of trees.A

madnesswasonher.

Shehatedhim.Whyshouldshe care so fiercely that hehaddeceivedher?Whydiditmatter so much? It matteredbecause this was the womanhe wanted. She knew howgladly he would have setEleanorasideforher.

Backatthepalacesheshutherself into her bedchamber.Shelayonherbedandstaredattheceiling.

She hated Henry and shelovedhim.

I am ageing and she isyoung, she thought. Once hecaredforme,butnowheseesme as an old woman. Didthey not shake their headsover us because I am nearlytwelveyearsolderthanheis?Whenwewereyoungeritdidnot seem tomatter. I had somuchtooffer.Wouldhehavewantedme if it were not for

Aquitaine? Would he? Asmuch as he now wantedRosamundClifford?

For all those years he hadgonetoher.Shecouldtelltheage of the liaison by the ageof the boys. And he went toseethemandwashappythere- happier than he was in hisroyalpalaces!

Iwillkillher,shethought.I will take to her a phial ofpoisonandforceher todrink

it.Whenhecomestoseeherhewillfindacorpse.

She shall not live tomockme.

Fortunately for RosamundHenryreturnedtoWoodstockthenextday.Eleanorcametohim while he was preparingto leave, as she knew now,for that little house in whichhehadinstalledhismistress.

‘So you came back early.Were you so eager to makelovetoRosamundClifford?’

Hestoppedshorttostareather.Caught!shethoughtwithgrimsatisfaction.Shesawtheredness come into his eyes.Hewasnowgoingtoflyintoone of his notorious tempersbecause she had found himout.

‘What know you ofRosamund Clifford?’ he

asked.

‘Oh,notasmuchasyou,Iadmit.But I did discover thelady’sbower.’

‘Whotookyouthere?’

‘You, my lord, with yourlittleskeinofsilk.’

‘Whatnonsenseisthis!’

‘No nonsense. The prettylady’s skein of silk wasattachedtoyourspur.Ifound

it and trailedyou there…oralmost. Yesterday I paid acall on her. She did notwelcomemeaseagerlyasshemustwelcomeyou.’

‘Youwentthere!’‘What a haven! And two

fine boys too!Henry,what amanyouare forgettingboyson harlots! I declare yourreputationwillsoonbethatofyourgrandfatherandmine.’

‘So you have discoveredthis.’

‘Yes, indeed. You arefoundout.’

‘Know this. I will do as Iwill.’

‘We all know that, myKing.Butwhile youmay doas you will with low-bornmaidens, you may not withthe Queen of England andDuchessofAquitaine.’

Henry laughed but it wasnotpleasantlaughter.

‘YoushouldknowmewellenoughbynowtorealisethatIwillnotbetoldwhatImustdobythosetwo.’

‘Neither of them willtolerateamistresshereinthepalace even though she ishidden in a maze. You fool,Henry, did you think youcould keep the woman’sexistenceasecretfrommefor

ever?’

‘IdidnotandIcarenot.’

‘Yet you did not wish metoknow.’

‘I thought it kinder to younottoknow.’

‘Doyou think Iwantyourkindness ? Do you think Ishall fretbecauseyouhaveamistressortwo?’

‘Nay, you are too wise.

You know full well that if Iwant a woman I will haveher.’

‘How long has this onebeenyourmistress?’

‘Sufficeitthatsheis.’

‘You have a specialfondnessforthisone,eh?’

‘Ihave.’

‘Sheisasawifetoyou,isshe?’

‘Sheis.’

‘And you would to Godshewere.’

He looked at her steadily.‘IwouldtoGodshewere.’

She struck at him; hecaught her hand and threwherfromhim.

‘Youshe-wolf,’hesaid.

‘And you are the lion.Henry the Lion, King of the

Forest.Butforgetnottheshe-wolfhasherfangs.’

‘Ifshedaresshowthemtomeormine theywillbe tornfromher.Doubtthatnot.Andknow this. If you harmRosamundCliffordIwillkillyou.’

‘All Aquitaine wouldrevolt against you if youdared.’

‘DoIcareforAquitaine?I

will subdue Aquitaine as Ihave all my territories. DoyouforgetthatIamtheKingand master of you all …everyoneofyou.Don’tbeafool, Eleanor. You are theQueen.Doesthatnotsuffice?Youhavebornemyheirs.Wehave a nursery full of them.Fourfineboys.HenrywillbeKingtofollowme-yourson.Isthatnotenough?’

‘No.Itisnotenough.Iwill

nothaveyousportwithyourmistressastone’sthrowfromthe palace. Shemust go.Getridofher.’

‘I’dliefergetridofyou.’

‘If you go back to thatwomanIneverwant toshareyourbedagain.’

‘Sobeit,’hesaid.‘Youareno longer young. There areothers who please me farmore.’

She struck out at him asshe had done before but heseizedherandthrewherontothebed.Intheolddaystherewould have been a rising ofsexual passion on suchoccasions. Not now. Therewas now hatred for her. Itwas clear to her that the twoyoungest children, Joannaand John, had come intobeing through custom or theneedofakingtogetasmanychildrenashecouldtoensure

thesuccession.

Suddenlyshefeltdefeated.She was an ageing woman.Shehadlivedanadventurouslife; she had had her lovers,butthatwasovernow.

Shestillhadpowerthough.She was still ruler ofAquitaine. In that fair landher troubadours still sang toherbeauty.

Shehadagreatdesirethen

tobethere.

‘I am going toAquitaine,’shesaid.

‘Yourpeopleareevergladto have you with them,’answeredtheKing.‘Itiswellthat you should go. Theygrow restive when theirDuchessisnotamongthem.’

‘I will take Richard withmeandyoungMarguerite.’

Her anger had left her.He

would be free to dally withRosamund Clifford. Perhapsnowhe need not keep her inher secret house - unless theladywascoy.

Eleanorhaddiscoveredthesecret of Woodstock and ithad brought to her someunderstandingofherself.TheKingwas tiredofher.Henolonger loved her. She wasmerely the mother of hischildren and the ruler of

Aquitaine. Let her go. Hewouldbefreeofher.Lethimalone that he might givehimselftothosetwopassionswhich consumed him - hislove for Rosamund Cliffordand his battle with ThomasBecket.

As she knew she would,Eleanorfoundherchildrenattheir books. Matilda, theeldest daughter, was a year

older than Richard whowithhis fair good looks andelegant figure was herfavourite. Itwasnotonlyhischarmandgood lookswhichmadehimso,butthefactthathis father seemed to dislikehim. Why? Because Richardmorethantheothersresentedthe intrusion into their circleof thebastardGeoffrey-andHenry knew that more thananything on earth Eleanorlovedthisson.

She loved his brotherGeoffrey too, and when shecame into their quarters andcalled his name there wasnever any confusion becauseofthatother.Sheneverspoketohimifshecouldhelpitandifshewaseverobligedtosheneverlookedathimwhenshespoke and never called himbyaname.

Richard called himGeoffrey the Bastard. There

had been many a fightbetween them.She suspectedthat the sly little bastardcomplained to his fatherabout the unkindness ofRichard.

Her son Geoffrey wasbeautiful. Strangely enoughhe had inherited the looks ofhis grandfather of the samename,GeoffreyofAnjouwhohad been known asGeoffreythe Fair. There was little

Eleanor, too young as yet toshowmuchcharacter,adoringRichard because he was byhisverynaturetheleader.

JoannaandbabyJohnweretoo young to join theschoolroom but John wasalready showing signs ofhaving inherited the famousAngevin temper. Rarely, shewas sure, had a childscreamed so much when hewas displeased as Master

John.

As she watched them inthosefewsecondsbeforetheywere aware of her, she wasoverwhelmed by heremotions. She had alwaysbeen fond of children. Evenher two daughters by Louishad been important to herduring their early life. ItwasdifficultforaQueenwhohadsomany calls upon her timeto be as much with her

childrenasahumblermothermighthavebeen - and in thedaysofhermarriagetoLouisshe had craved adventurebecause she had been soboredwithhermarriage.

She had never been boredwith Henry. Now that shehated him, for she was sureshe did, he could still arouseinheranemotionwhichwasfarfromboredom.Shewasofa nature to prefer hatred to

ennui.

Richardlookedupandsawher. The pleasure in his eyescompensated her for theKing’s contempt of her.Henrymight findherageing,no longer an inspiration tolove, but Richard loved herwith a love which did notdependonyears.Hewasherbeloved son; there was anunderstanding between them.They were allies against the

King, for Richard was fullyaware that for some reasonhisfatherdidnotlikehim.

Richardrosefromthetableand ran to her. He knelt andkissedherhands.

‘Mother,’ he said, raisinghisbeautifuleyestohers.

‘My dearest boy,’ sheanswered, and her sonGeoffrey was alreadyclamouringforattention.

Shethought:Theyloveme.They truly loveme. Is it likethiswhen theKing comes totheirschoolroom?

Geoffrey theBastardstoodup and bowed stiffly. Shelookedpasthimasthoughshewere unaware of hisexistence.

Another child had comeinto the room. This wasMarguerite, the little FrenchPrincess,whowasmarriedto

Henry and was now beingbrought up in the royalhousehold.

MargueritecurtseyedtotheQueenandgreetedher inherprettyaccent.

Eleanor drew them allaboutherandaskedquestionsabout their lessons. Theyanswered eagerly, butRichardwasthecleverestshenoticedwithsatisfaction.

‘We are going toAquitaine,’ she said. ‘That ismyowncountry.’

‘Are we all going?’ askedRichard.

‘As yet I am unsure, butone thing I know. You, myson,willgowithme.’

Richard laughed aloud toshowhispleasure.

‘That pleases you, myboy?’ she asked ruffling his

faircurlyhair.

He nodded. ‘But if theyhad not let me go …’ Theymeanthisfather.‘…Ishouldhavefollowedyou.’

‘How would you havedonethat?’

‘Iwouldhaveriddentotheseaandgot into theboatandthen I would have ridden ontoAquitaine.’

‘Youwillbeanadventurer,

myson.’

Then she told them aboutAquitaine and how thetroubadourscametothecourtand sang beautiful songs, forAquitaine was the home ofthetroubadours.

‘Listen, Marguerite,’commanded Richard. ‘Doesnot my mother tell beautifulstories?Isshenotbetter thanyouroldBecket?’

‘What is this talk ofBecket?’askedtheQueen.

‘Margueritealwaystalksofhim. She says that she andHenry cried when he went.Marguerite loved him … sodid Henry. They said theylovedhimbetterthananyone,better than our father …better than you… That waswickedwasn’tit,mylady,forheisawickedman.’

‘Youlistentogossip,’said

the Queen. ‘You will notmention this man. He waswicked because he offendedthe King. That is an end ofhim.’

‘Is he dead?’ askedRichard,atwhichMargueriteburstintotears.

‘He is not dead,’ said theQueen to pacify Marguerite.‘Butheisnottobespokenof.Now I will sing you a songfrom Aquitaine and you will

understand then how happyweshallbethere.’

And there with Richardleaning against her knee andGeoffrey looking at her withwondering eyes, andMatildaand Marguerite sitting ontheir small stools at her feet,she thought, Here is myfuture,inthesebeautifulsonsand particularly Richard.What care I for you, HenryPlantagenet,when I havemy

sons? Iwill bind them tomeand they shall be trulymine.Theywill hate thosewho donot treat me well - eventhough that be you, KingHenry.

When Eleanor left Englandthe King was relieved. Hedecided now that he wouldlive openly with Rosamundand brought her out ofseclusion. She was a great

solace to him but he was aworried man. He thoughtconstantlyofThomasBecket,and try as hemight he couldnot get the man out of hismind. Thomas would beliving now in poverty in hismonastery. Thomas who hadloved luxury and neededcomforts.Henry rememberedhow cold Thomas had beenwhenthewindblewandhowhehadlaughedathimforhisweakness. But Thomas was

bynomeansweak.Hehadastrong spirit and was of thestuffthatmartyrsaremade.

Therewasnot roomforusboth in England, thoughtHenry.

Hecouldnotlongenjoyhissolitude inEngland, peacefulas everything was there.Fresh trouble had broken outin Brittany which meantcrossing the seas again. Hesaid a fond farewell to

Rosamundandleft.

‘The fate of all our kings,since my ancestor Williamthe Conqueror took this landand added it to his estates ofNormandy,’hemused.

InSeptembernewscametohim that his mother, stillknown as the EmpressMatilda, was grievously sickatRouen;andbeforehecouldgettohersideshewasdead.

That saddened him. Therehad been affection betweenthem, and shehad lovedhimas dearly as shewas capableof loving anyone. Now thatshe was dead he thought ofall she had done for him;how, when she had knownthat the English crown couldnot be hers she had schemedfor it to be his.He had beenher favourite. His brothers -now both dead - had beennowherewithher.

Inawaysheremindedhimof Eleanor - both strongwomen,bothbroughtupwiththe idea that they would berulers. It was a mistake tobringupwomenso.Matilda’smarried life had been stormyfromthestart.AtleastheandEleanorhadstartedbylovingeachother.

As mothers he comparedthe two women. Eleanorseemed to be developing an

obsession concerning thatyoung cub Richard. And Inever took to him - minethough he undoubtedly is.He’shismother’sboy.Readyto defend her against any -including me. A finesportsman.Itdidamangoodto look at such a boy andknowhewashis son.Buthecouldnotlikehim-notashecould young Geoffrey, thewhore’s son. Strange, he hadbegunbymakingmuchofthe

boybecauseEleanorhatedtohavehiminhernurseries,andit had grown from that. AndHenry, his first-born sincetheyhad lostWilliam,Henrywasafineboy.Charmingandhandsome.Asontobeproudof. There was anestrangement between themnowfortheboyhadbeenputunder the tutelage ofBecket,and the man had somehowweaned him from his naturalaffections and taken them

himself.Thuswhentherehadbeen a quarrel betweenBecketandtheKing,theboywould take the side of histutorratherthanhisfather.

Becket.ItallcamebacktoBecket.

The King had been thinkingabouthiseldestsonandsometimebeforeithadoccurredtohimthatifyoungHenrywerecrowned King of England

during his father’s lifetimetherecouldbenodoubtofthesuccession.

Some of his ministersthought that it would beunwise to have two crownedkings.

‘My own son!’ criedHenry. ‘What should I fearfromhim?’

True,youngHenrywasbuta boy, but that would not

alwaysbeso.

Themorehethoughtoftheidea the more he liked it. Itwould bind young Henry tohim. Surely he would begrateful to a father who haddonesomuchforhim.Surelythat would wean hisallegiancefromBecket.

Then again his ministersreminded him, it was a lawthat a kingmust be crownedby the Archbishop of

Canterbury, and as theArchbishopwas inexilewhocould perform this importantceremony?

There was Roger,Archbishop of York and theKing’s servant. But theArchbishop of York was notthe Primate, though the kinghad done everything in hispowertomakehimso.

In the privacy of hisapartments he thought:What

if I made my peace withThomas?ThenhecouldcomebackandcrownyoungHenry.He had to admit that hewanted Thomas back. Hewantedtorenewthefight.Hecouldn’thelpit.Themanhadbeen close to him. YoungHenry mourned for Thomasandsoinawaydidhisfather.

Fortunately for Henry,PopeAlexanderwasamanofdeviouswaysandwhensuch

a man was in difficulties, asAlexander undoubtedly was,itwasnotaninsuperabletaskto make him agree tosomethingwhichwasoutsidehisrights.

In a weak momentAlexander agreed that thecoronation of young Henryshould be performed byRoger,ArchbishopofYork.

Knowing that having beenforcedbyHenrytomakesuch

a concession Alexanderwouldimmediatelyattempttorescind it, Henry putpreparations for thecoronationintoprogress.

He sent word to Eleanorthat Henry, who had joinedher and the other children inAquitaine,was to bebroughttoCaenwithhiswife,youngMarguerite, and wait thereuntilhesentforhim.

Eleanor had written to the

King telling him thatMarguerite had declared thatthe coronation could be nocoronation unless it wasperformedby theArchbishopof Canterbury, and this soangered the King that whenhe sent for his son hecommanded that he comealone. If Marguerite thoughtshe must be crowned by herbeloved Becket she shouldhavenocoronationatall.

Meanwhilemessengershadarrived from the Pope who,afraid of what he had done,sent letters to cancel hispreviouspromise.

Henry took the letters andpromptly burned them. Hegave the impression that hehad not received them. Hehadtheportswatchedandalltravellerssearchedsoanxiouswas he that no edict shouldreach his bishops from the

Pope. One however did getthrough.ThiswasanunwhohadbeensentbyThomasandshe carried a letter to RogerofYork.

She arrived and found herway to Roger on the daybefore that fixed for thecoronation. He read it.Thomas forbade him! ThePopeforbadehim!Rogerhadcome to his present positionthroughobeyingtheKing,not

ThomasandthePope.

ThedaydawnedandyoungHenry, aged sixteen andreckoned to be the mosthandsome prince in theworld,wascrownedbyRogerde Pont l’Eveque as King ofEngland.

The King watched withcomplacence.

He had yet again provedthat he could do without an

Archbishop of Canterbury,and he had secured thesuccession-sohebelieved.

He himself was thirty-seven years of age andconstantly engaged in battleas hewas hemightmeet hisdeathatanytime.

All was well. Englandwould have a king to followhim,ifbymischanceheweretomeethisend.

ChapterXV

TRAITOR’SMEADOW

Therewasonewhowasnotpleasedbythecoronationandthatwas theKing of France.ItwasthecustomforkingsofFrance to have their eldest

sons crowned before theirdeaths and so make a newkingwhocould step rightonto the throne when the oldman died. But what of hisdaughter? Was she not thewife of young Henry? Whywasshenotcrowned?

Louis then began to makeattacks on the Vexin for hesaid that if Henry did notregard her as young Henry’swife and queen, he saw no

reason why he should haveherdowry.

Henry decided that it waseasier to crown Margueriteand make peace with Louisthan to stand out against thecrowning and have to makewar. One thing he could notdowaslosetheVexin.

WhilehewasinFrancetheArchbishop of Rouen visitedhim, and the reason for hisvisit was to tell him that the

PopewishedhimtomakehispeacewithThomasBecket.Itwas an impossible situation.For several years England’sArchbishophadbeeninexileand this displeased the Pope.Becket would be happy toreturn to his post. It was forthe King to invite him to. Ifhe did not the Pope hadhinted thathewouldhavenoalternative but toexcommunicate the King ofEngland.

Henry pretended toconsider the matter. To seeThomas again! He had toadmit that the idea was notdispleasing.Onthecontraryitfilledhimwithanexcitementhecouldnotunderstand.

Hewas in excellent spiritswhen he met Louis to takeleave from him beforereturningtoEngland.

‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘thatthief of yours shall have his

peaceandagoodonetoo.’

‘By the saints of France,what thief pray?’ askedLouis.

‘That Archbishop ofCanterbury of ours,’answeredHenry.

‘I wish he were ours aswell as yours,’ replied theKing of France. ‘You willplease God and man if youmakeagoodpeacewithhim,

and I shall be ever moregratefultoyou.’

Itwasdawnand themeetingwas to take place in a greenfield which was calledTraitor’sMeadow.

The King of France,although he was stationednearby, haddeclared that hewould not be present at themeetingforherealisedthatitwould be an emotional

encounter.

Henrysurroundedbyafewof his knights rode ahead ofhis party into the meadow,and there he waited until hesaw approaching from theopposite direction the well-known figure and two of hisfriends riding on either sideofhim.

OhGod, thoughtHenry, isthishe?Hewhousedtolookso fine on his horse in his

magnificent cloak lined withfur. The years have ill-usedhim.

He spurred his horse thathemightrideaheadandgreethisoldfriend.

Thomas did the same andin that field they faced eachother.

‘Thomas,’ said Henry, hisvoiceshakenwithemotion.

‘MylordKing.’

Henry dismounted andThomas did the same. Thenthe King held out his armsandtheyembraced.

‘Thomas, it has been solongsincewemet.’

‘It is five years,’ repliedThomas. ‘A long time for aman to be away from hishome.’

‘I have thought of youoftenandthedaysweusedto

spendtogether.IdoubtIeverlaughedasmuchasIdidwithyou.Whydidyouplaguemeso?Why could younot havebeenasIwished?’

‘Because I was yourArchbishop, my lord, and Iowed my allegiance first toGodandthentoyou.’

‘I wanted you to have thehighest honour. You knewthat.’

‘It was an honour thatshould have come to methrough my service to God,notthroughyourfavour.’

‘By God’s eyes, whattroubles we have made forourselves! My son Henrytalks of you fondly. Youbewitchedhim,Thomas.’

‘I am glad that he did notlosehisloveforme.’

‘Nay. ‘Tis hard to do that.

You will come back toEngland,Thomas.Canterburyhasbeen too longwithout itsArchbishop.Your lands shallberestoredtoyou.’

Thomas smiled but sadly.HeknewHenrysowell.Howoften in the past had hisemotion extracted promisesfrom him which in coolermomentshehadnotkept.Yetitwaspleasanttobewiththisman,thisHenry,forhadthey

notlovedeachotherwell?

‘Ihaveoftenthought,’saidthe King, ‘that I would takethecrosstotheHolyLand.IfIdid,Thomas, Iwould leavemysonHenryinyourcare.’

‘He is almost a man nowwithawillofhisown.’

‘Yet he would be guidedbyyouandthiswouldIdoifIweretoleaveonacrusade.’

Leaveonacrusade!Leave

England! Leave Normandy,Anjou, Aquitaine! Thesewere the meaning of life tohim. He would never leavethem.But he liked to dream.He wished to show Thomasthat he loved him, so he lethimselfindulgeinthisfancy.

‘I could not undertake asecular office,’ said Thomas.‘ButifyousodesiredIwouldgivemy advice to the youngKing.’

‘Thomas, you shall return.We will forget ourdifferences.Comeback toussoon.’

‘My lord is good,’ saidThomas. ‘There are certainbishops who have offendedagainst theChurch.NonebuttheArchbishopofCanterburyshould have crowned theyoung King. Thosechurchmenwhoagreedtothisshould be called to task for

doingso.’

TheKing’saffabilitywasalittlestrainedatthis.

‘I believed that asKingofEngland I was entitled tohave my son crownedwhereverandbywhomsoeverIwished.Youwillrememberhow my grandfather andgreat-grandfather werecrowned.’

‘My lord, when the

Conqueror was crowned byAldredofYork the throneofCanterbury was virtuallyvacant. Stigand had not atthat time received the pallfrom a legitimate Pope. AsforyourgrandfatherHenryI,when he was crownedAnselm the Archbishop wasin exile. The Bishop ofHereford crowned him asAnselm’s representative andas soon as Anselm returnedhewasrequestedtoperforma

newcoronation.’

”Tis true,’ said Henry.‘And you shall perform acoronation for my son andthis time his wife shall bewith him for the King ofFrance was sorely vexedbecausehisdaughterwasnotcrownedwithHenry.’

Thomas knelt then at theKing’s feet; Henry leanedforward and liftedhim.Thenhe embraced him. This was

indeedareconciliation.

ChapterXVI

MURDER

Six years before he hadescaped from the town ofSandwich and now he cameback to it. His servants hadsetupthecrossofCanterburyon the prow and as the little

boatcameinthepeoplecamedowntotheshoretowelcomehim.Manyof themwadedinthe water battling for thehonourofhelpinghimashore.Onthatstrandmanykneltandaskedforhisblesssing.

Onemanshouted:‘Blessedishethatcomethinthenameof the Lord.’ And some ofthemshouted:‘Hosanna.’

As he took the road toCanterbury people fell in

behind him. They cried out:‘He is back among us. Godhasblessedusandgivenhimbacktous.’

In the city of Canterburyitself they set all the bellsringing; people dressedthemselves in their finestgarments; they filled thestreets; they cried to eachother that all was well withCanterbury for ThomasBecketwasback.

Thomas walked into thecathedral.Thejoyofbeinginhis own church wasunsurpassed. He sat on thethrone and one by one hismonks came to receive thekiss of peace and the peoplewho had crowded into thecathedrallookedonwithawe.

Some whispered to theothers:‘Alliswellnow.Heisback.’

There were many who weredeeply disturbed by hisreturn; thosewhohadhelpedtodestroyhim,thosewhohadtakenpartinthecoronationofyoungHenry, thosewho hadbelieved their ambitionswouldbefurtheredifhewereout of theway.And chief ofthesewasRoger,ArchbishopofYork.

‘Howlongwillhelast?’heaskedhisfriends.‘Hashenot

laid strictures on us becauseweofficiatedattheceremonyofcoronation.IhavetheKingbehind me. I will empty mycoffers…Iwillspendeight-nay ten thousandpounds - toputdown thisman.Letus toNormandywhere theKing isand therewewill tell himofhowThomasBecketconductshimself as soon as he hasreturnedtoEngland.’

Smarting under the threat

of excommunication thebishops agreedwith him andtheysetoutforNormandy.

Thomas meanwhile wasdiscoveringthattheKinghadnotkepthispromisetoreturnhis estates, and had eventaken revenge on his family.Hissistershadbeenforcedtogo into exile.Marywho hadbecome a nun had gone to aFrench convent, and Matildaandher familyhadalsogone

toFrancewheretheAbbotofClairmarais had given themrefuge.

How deep had Henry’sfeeling been? Had he reallymeant his promise offriendship?

Roger of York was apowerful man and he hadbeen Thomas’s enemy fromthedayswhen theyhadbeentogether in Theobald’shousehold.Henowknewthat

Thomas’s rise could only behis fall, and he had meantwhat he said when he hadboasted that he would spendhisfortuneonruininghim.

HewasaninfluenceintheChurch; he had won theKing’s favour by showinghim that he had no scruplesandwasbentonreachinghisambition which was to behead of the Church inEngland.

Before he left forNormandy he went toWoodstock to see the youngHenry.

Henry was proud of hiscrown and his attitude hadchangedsincehiscoronation.He was apt to be critical ofhis father andwisemen saidthat itwas folly foronekingto crown his successorwhilehe still lived. The boy kingwas undoubtedly a little

arrogant; he was surroundedby sycophants, and whenRoger came with thatunctuous manner which heknewsowellhowtouseandflattered the young boy, hecouldinfluencehim.

‘Becket is on his way toseeyou, Idoubtnot,’he toldhim, ‘I’ll warrant you willhave little time for the oldhypocrite.’

Henrywaspuzzled.‘Iliked

him well,’ he said. ‘Hetutoredme,youknow.’

‘Ah, my lord. That waswhen youwere a young boyandcouldbeeasilydeceived.How quickly you learned tosee the truth. I’ll swear thatyou see this more quicklyeventhanyournoblefather.’

‘Itmaybe so,’ saidHenrysolemnly.

‘Isaidtomybishops,“Our

lord,theyoungKing,willseeright through the old fellowwhen he comes trying towheedle something out ofhim.”’

‘Whyshouldhewheedle?’

‘Because, dear lord, youarewhoyouare:ourKing.’

Henry smiled. ‘I couldnothelpbutlikethefellow…’

‘Untilyousawthathewasa troublemaker. You saw it

ere your father did, Iwarrant.’

Henry was silent. Hesupposed that Thomas was atroublemaker. His father andthe Archbishop hadquarrelled.

‘You know he hasexcommunicated those of uswho took part in yourcoronation?’

‘Whyso?’

‘Becausehedidnotbelieveyoushouldbecrowned.’

‘And why should hepresumetodothat?’

‘Because he ispresumption. He was againstthe coronation. There shouldbe one king at a time, hesays.’

‘Does he indeed! Then hewill have to be taughtotherwise.’

‘I knew you would thinkthat,mylord.Hehasinsultedyoubyhisprotestsagainstthecoronation.I’llwarrantyou’llnot lose an opportunity ofinsultinghim.’

Henrywasthoughtful.

Thomas was travelling toWoodstock.What pleasure itwould give him to embracehis pupil. He would seeyoungMargueritetoo.Hehad

lovedthepairofthemdearly;and they had been eager tolearnfromhim.

First he would passthroughLondonandwhenhereached that city, hisreception was as hearteningasthatwhichhehadreceivedinCanterbury.

The Bishop ofWinchesterreceivedhiminhisPalaceofSouthwark and caused thebellstoberungforhewasas

good a friend as Roger ofYorkwasbadanenemy.

‘It warms my heart to seeyou back,’ he said. ‘And seewhatawelcomethepeopleofLondon give you. You willovercomeyourenemies.’

When Thomas went intothe streets people came tohimandknelton thecobblesforhisblessing,buttherewasonedistressingincidentwhena mad woman who called

herselfaprophetessranamokthrough the crowd. ‘Bewareoftheknife,Archbishop,’shekept crying. ‘Beware of theknife.’

TheyhustledherawayandThomaswentonhisprogress.But that night his dreamsweredisturbedandinthemheheard the old woman’s cry:‘Bewareoftheknife.’

When he approached

Woodstock, his good friendAbbotSimonofSaintAlbans,who had travelled from hismonastery to greet theArchbishop, said that hewouldgoasmessengertotheyoung King and tell him oftheapproachofhisoldfriendandcounsellor.

It saddened him whenSimonreturnedwiththenewsthat the young King refusedto see him, and that he had

been told by one of Henry’sknights that there would beno welcome for ThomasBecketatWoodstock.

So he travelled back toCanterbury.

It was Christmas time andon Christmas Day at highMass his text was ‘On earthpeacetomenofgoodwill.’

Hewasfullofforeboding.

Young Henry had been

turned against him, and howcould he know what was inthemindofhisfather?

Henry was at Bayeux whenRoger of York and some ofthe excommunicated bishopsarrivedtoseehim.

The first thing he askedwas: ‘How fares theArchbishopofCanterbury?’

‘As he always did, my

lord,’ said Roger of York.‘He is roaming the countryand seeking to turn many ofyoursubjectsagainstyou.’

‘How has he done that?’demandedtheKing.

‘Hehasonlytoappearandthe people shout for him.Heposes as the martyr who hassuffered greatly because oftheKing’sillwill.’

‘And his ill will towards

me?Whatofthat?’

‘Hedoesnotmention that,my lord.Heposesasa saint.Many say he is. The peoplefollowhimwhereverhegoes.They kneel before him andthey think that if he givesthem his blessing their sinsare forgiven them and theyare sure of their place inHeaven. He declares theyoungKingisnokingforheshould never have been

crowned.’

‘Hehaspreachedthis?’

‘Assuredlyso,mylord.Hehascursedallthosewhotookpartinthecoronation.Hewillexcommunicate them, hesays.’

‘Then he willexcommunicateme,’ said theKing.

‘He has said all, my lord,and that would assuredly

include you. He gathersmultitudeswhereverhegoes.He is marching throughEnglandcallingonthepeopletoturnouttheyoungKing.’

‘By God’s eyes,’ said theKing, ‘he has deceived meagain. He is against me andmine.’

The ragewasbeginning toshow in his eyes; he tore athishairandpulledatthestuffofhisdoublet.

He shouted to Roger andhiscompanions:‘Whatwouldyou have me do, eh? Howwouldyouhavemeact?’

‘It is not for us to adviseyou, my lord,’ answeredRoger. ‘That is for yourbarons, but as long asThomasBecketlivesyouwillnot have good days, nor apeaceful kingdom and quiettimes.’

Henry clenched his fists

and those standing near himtook a pace backwards forthey could see that hiswrathwould burst forth at anymoment and would beterrible.

‘A fellow who has eatenmy bread has lifted up hisheel against me. A fellowwhofirstbrokeintomycourtona lamehorsewithacloakfor a saddle swaggers onmythrone while you, the

companions of my fortunes,lookon.’

He glared at the companyand his gaze rested on acertain knight namedReginald FitzUrse. The mantrembled before the wrath oftheKing.

‘Acurseuponall the falsevarlets I have maintained!’spat out Henry. ‘They haveleft me long exposed to theinsolence of this low-born

clericandhavenotattemptedtorelievemeofhim.’

He strode angrily to thedoor, and eagerly they fellbacktolethimpass.

When he had gone therewas a deep silence in theroom.

Reginald FitzUrse, a man ofsomeambition,askedthreeofhis friends to come to his

chamber where they mighttalk in secret. These threewereWilliamdeTracy,Hughde Morville and RichardBrito.

When theywere there andhe was sure of secrecy,FitzUrse said: ‘It was acommand from theKing.Helookedstraightatmewhenhesaid those words. He iscommanding me to killThomasBecket.’

‘I believe that to be so,’replied Hugh deMorville. ‘Ibelievehewouldrewardwellthose who rid him of thetroublesomepriest.’

‘IhaveaskedyouherethatwemightsharethishonourofdoingservicetotheKing.Hewill not forget us, dependuponit.’

‘The Archbishop is atCanterburysurroundedbyhisfriends.’

‘Thatshouldnotdeterus.’

‘Whatshouldwedothen?’

‘Firstwego toCanterburyand there we will make ourplans.’

‘Then,’saidRichardBrito,‘why do we not set outwithoutdelay?’

‘We will leave this nightfor Canterbury,’ answeredReginaldFitzUrse.

Within a few hours theywereontheirwaytothecoasttotakeshipforEngland.

Onthe28thofDecemberthefour knights came toSaltwood Castle and therethey rested. They hadcollected a party of menknown to be enemies of theArchbishop, those whothought they could profit bypleasing the King, and there

theyconferredtogether.Theywould incite the people tomarch on the Archbishop’spalace.

They soon discovered thatthis was impossible as thepeople were fervently on theside of the Archbishop andnowhere more than in hisowndistrict.

Theythereforemarchedonalone.

Thomas was in therefectory talking with someof the monks and clerics aswas his custom. They hadbeen trying to urge him toescape, for they were wellawarethattheKing’sknightswere in the neighbourhoodendeavouring to inflame thepeopleagainsthim.

He had awakened thatmorning with a presentimentof disaster and had said that

hebelievedhisendwasverynear.

Those who loved himimplored him to leave. TheywerebutsixmilesorsofromSandwich; a boat could beprocured.TheKingofFrancewouldofferhimhospitality.

‘Nay,’ said Thomas. ‘Notagain. I know the time hascomeanditisGod’swillthatIstaytomeetmyfate.’

While they sat there hisseneschal came in toannounce the arrival of fourknights.

They stood before himlookingathiminsolently.Heknew them all by name fortheyhadservedhimwhenhehadbeentheChancellor.

‘God help you,’ saidFitzUrse and his voice wasexultant.

‘Have you come here topray for me then?’ askedThomas.

‘We comewith amessagefromtheKing.Willyouhearitnoworinprivate?’

‘At your pleasure,’answeredThomas.

‘Nay,atyours.’

Thomassawthattheywereall unarmed, yet he readmurder in their eyes and he

thought: The King has sentthemtokillme.

‘It shall be at yourpleasure,’he said, forhehadnowill to stop their designs.Ratherdidhewelcomethem,so certain was he that hismartyrdomwasathand.

‘You have offended theKing,’ said FitzUrse. ‘Youhave broken your agreementwith him. You havethreatened excommunication

of the King’s friends androamed the country rallyingpeople that they might actagainsttheKing.OurlordtheKing commands that you goat once to his young son,KingHenry,andswearfealtyto him and make atonementfor your crimes against ourgreatKing,HenryII.’

‘There is no man - savingyoung Henry’s own father -wholoveshimmorethanI.I

havenonebutwarmandloyalfeelings for him. Thewelcome given me by myfriendshasbeenmistakenfordisloyal demonstrationsagainst the King and I amready to prove this in anycourt. Any excommunicationisdecreedbythePope.Asforthosewhohave takenpart inthe coronation of the King’sson I have no jurisdictionovertheArchbishopofYork,but if theBishopsofLondon

and Salisbury who shared inthatceremonyaskpardonandstand trial for their actionstheywill be absolved. I havehad the King’s leave topunish those who invademyoffice.’

‘You accuse the King oftreachery when you say heallowedyoutosuspendthosewhotookpartinacoronationordered by himself,’ saidFitzUrse.

‘I do not charge the Kingwithtreachery,butyouknowofouragreement.’

‘From whom do you holdyour Archbishopric?’demandedFitzUrse.

‘FromGodandthePope.’

‘AndnotfromtheKing?’

‘By no means. We mustrendertotheKingthatwhichis theKing’s and toGod thethingsthatareGod’s.’

The knights werenonplussedandhatedhimthemoreforconfoundingthem.

Thomas said softly: ‘Youcannot be more ready tostrike than I am to suffer.Understand this. I did notreturntoflyagain.’

Theknightslookedateachother in bewilderment.FitzUrse, the leader, cursedhimselfforhavingnoweaponat hand and for a moment

wondered whether he wouldsnatch the crozier and battertheArchbishop todeathwiththat.

ThenheturnedandhurriedfromThomas’s presence, theothersfollowinghim.

Thomas’s friends wereterrified. They knew that thefour knights were bent onmurder.

‘I wish to go into the

cathedral to pray,’ saidThomas; and it occurred toseveral of the monks that hehad the air of a bridegroomgoingtohismarriage.

He left the palace with averyfewofhismonks.Terrorhad invaded the place, and itoccurred to Thomas that hisenemies would kill himbefore he could reach thecathedral.

He came in by the north

transept and as he did so thefour knights appeared at thefar end of the cloister.Thomas moved towards thealtar and in the gloom wasnot seen by the knights; butthe monks who hadaccompanied him ran toshelter invariouspartsof thecathedral. Only one cleric,Edward Grim, remainedbesidehim.

They shouted: ‘Where is

thetraitor,Becket?’

‘Here,’ cried Thomas. ‘Notraitorbut apriestofGod. Ifyou seekmeyouhave foundme.Whatdoyouwishofme?’

So calm was he thatMorville and Tracy weresuddenlyafraidfortheyknewtheywereinthepresenceofagreatman.

Tracy called: ‘Fly, or you

areadeadman.’

‘Idonotfearyourswords,’answered Thomas. ‘Iwelcomedeathforthesakeofthe Lord and the freedom oftheChurch.’

Awarethattheotherswerewavering, FitzUrse cried:‘You are our prisoner. Youwillcomewithus.’

‘I will not,’ answeredThomas.

FitzUrse stretched out toseize his pall. ‘Do not touchme, pander,’ said theArchbishop.

ThisenragedFitzUrsewhowaved his sword over theArchbishop’shead.

Thomas knew that themoment had come. Hemurmured: ‘UntoThyhands,oh Lord …’ as FitzUrseshouted:‘Strike!’

Tracy lifted his sword andthe faithful Edward Grimtried to ward off the blow.Hisarmwasseveredfromhisbody and he fell fainting tothe ground. The sword camedown in Thomas’s head andcut off the tonsured part ofhiscrown.

FitzUrse came in anddeliveredanotherblowwhichsent Thomas to his knees.Brito struck out with his

swordandThomasfelldyingtothefloor.

FitzUrse cried: ‘The deedis done. Let us be off,comrades. This traitor willneverriseagain.’

His body lay on the stonesand Osbert, his chamberlain,came and wept over him.Thenhecutoffapieceofhissurplice and covered hismaster’sface.

The soldiers wereransackingthepalaceandthemonkswereinhiding.Itwasas though a terrible darknesshadfallenover thecathedral;andwhenitwasquietandtheravagers had gone, and thenews of what had happenedhadspread through the town,people came to the spotwhere he lay and they weptand knelt and called him,‘Thomas the Saint andMartyr.’

The monks collected hisscatteredbrainsandputthemin a basin as holy relics, andthey found that beneath hisrobes he wore a long hairshirt, which was alive withvermin andwhichmust havetormentedhimsorely.

Allnight theykneltbesidehim, and in the morningbecause they had heard thathis enemies were coming totake his body and give it to

thedogs,theytookhimtothecrypt and they buried himbeforethealtarsofSaintJohnthe Baptist and SaintAugustine the Apostle ofEngland;andfromthatdayitwas said miracles wereperformed at the shrine ofThomasBecket.

ChapterXVII

THEKING’SREMORSE

WhenthenewswasbroughttotheKinghewasfilledwithremorseandacertainterror.

‘Ihavedone this,’hesaid.

‘IamthemurdererofThomasBecket.’

He shut himself in hisbedchamber and wished toseenoone.Therehe thoughtof all they had been to eachother in the days of theirfriendshipandhowtherewasno man he loved as he hadlovedThomasBecket.

Andhehadkilledhim.

They were calling him a

martyr. They were callinghimasaint.Theysaidthatathis shrine miracles wereperformed. The whole ofChristendomwas shockedbythemurder and the whole ofChristendom said: ‘Who hasdonethiswickeddeed?’

It was FitzUrse and theothers.Nay, itwas theKing.Had he not cursed them fornot ridding himself of theman?

All his life thememory ofThomas Becket would bewith him. He might do apublic penance but hewouldneverforget.

Thomas lay dead, hisbrains had been scattered onthestones.Andhisbodytheysaid was inflamed with thebitesoftheverminwhoathiswill had infested his hairshirt.Thomas,whohadlovedsilk next to his skin and had

hated thecoldwinds toblowonhim!Hewasdead-killedbyhisone-timefriend.

TherewasnotroomforthetwoofusinEngland,thoughtHenry, because I wanted tobe supreme ruler not only ofState but of Church. Andbecause of this he lies deadand I am to blame. I am themurderer who killed themartyr.

But hewas a king; hehad

hislifetolead;hiscountrytogovern.

His son Henry, whom hehad crowned, he now knewunwisely, was eager to takehis place. Thomas had beenagainst the crowning. It wasnever wise to set up a newking while the old one stillreigned.

His wife Eleanor hatedhim. His son Richard hadturnedagainsthim.

Where could he go forcomfort?ToRosamund?Shewouldgivehimsolace,buthecould not talk to her of histroubles. She would neverunderstand them. She wouldagreewitheverythinghesaid,and that was not what hewanted.

What was Eleanor doing?How long before she rousedhissonsagainsthim?Hewasunhappy. He was afraid, for

hewas a lonelyman and hissoul was stained with thebloodofonehehadloved.

Bibliography

Abbott, Edwin A., StThomasofCanterburyAppleby,JohnT.,HenryIITheVanquishedKingAubrey, WilliamHickman Smith, TheNational and DomesticHistoryofEnglandDark,Sidney,StThomas

ofCanterburyDemimuid, Monsignor,SaintThomasaBecketDuggan,Alfred,ThomasBecketofCanterburyFitzStephen, William(translated by GeorgeGreenaway), The Lifeand Death of ThomasBecketGuizot,M.(translatedbyRobert Black), HistoryofFranceHenderson, A, E.,

Canterbury CathedralThenandNowHope,Anne,TheLifeofSt Thomas a Becket ofCanterburyHutton, the Rev.William Holden(arranged by), Thomasof Canterbury andThomasBecketKnowles, M. D.,Archbishop ThomasBecket,CharacterStudyMorris, John, The Life

and Martyrdom of StThomasaBecketPernoud, Regine(translated by PeterWiles), Eleanor ofAquitaineRobertson, JamesCraigie, Becket,Archbishop ofCanterburyRosenberg, Melrich V.,Eleanor of Aquitaine,Queen of theTroubadours and the

CourtsofLoveSalzmann, L. F., HenryIISpeaight, R., ThomasBecketStephens, SirLeslie andLee, Sir Sydney (eds.),The Dictionary ofNationalBiographyStrickland,Agnes,Livesof the Queens ofEnglandThompson, RobertAnchor,ThomasBecket

Wade, John, BritishHistory

TableofContents

Cover

AbouttheBook

Title

Copyright

PraiseforJeanPlaidy

AbouttheAuthor

AvailableinArrowBooksbyJeanPlaidy

FamilyTree

EleonoreandHenry

I:DuchessandQueen

II:PetronelleandtheCount

III:TheLoversofAntioch

IV:TheRoyalDivorce

V:QueenofEngland

HenryandThomas

VI:TheKing’sWill

VII:FairRosamund

VIII:TheRiseofBecket

IX:TheAbbessBride

X:TheVacantSee

XI:TheRisingStorm

XII:TheKing’sTriumph

XIII:FlightfromEngland

XIV:Rosamund’sBower

XV:Traitor’sMeadow

XVI:Murder

XVII:TheKing’sRemorse

Bibliography