There was a great deal of murmuring in the streets about Queenhithe as they called this tax and there was many a dispute about it.

‘It was a bad day for England,’ it was said, ‘when the thieving foreigners were brought to our shores.’

The arrival of Boniface did much to aggravate this situation, and although he was received at Canterbury it was with no good grace. He had come attended by a retinue of his own countrymen and naturally places had to be found for them in Canterbury.

Both Henry and Eleanor seemed to be quite unaware of their growing unpopularity which was largely concentrated on Eleanor because of the increasing number of foreigners she brought into the country. Boniface was haughty and appeared to believe that since his niece was the Queen of England that entitled him to behave as though the entire country belonged to her. London had always stood aloof from the rest of the country. It was the capital and centre of trade, and therefore determined to have a say in England’s affairs. London had always to be won over if it were to give its support to the Sovereign. It was London that had refused to give Matilda a crown and passed it to Stephen. Wise monarchs remembered that. John had been far from wise and it seemed that his son Henry, out of besotted devotion to his wife, forgot it also. At least neither the King nor the Queen thought to remind Boniface that he must go carefully with the citizens of London.

It was not long after the inauguration of Boniface that the Archbishop visited the Priory of St Bartholomew in London which was in the diocese of the Bishop of London.

This visit should not have been made except in the company of the Bishop or at least on his invitation and when the new Archbishop – so clearly a foreigner – arrived at the Priory there was some consternation.

The monks conferred together and decided that since he held the office of Archbishop of Canterbury – although he was not of their choosing – they should show respect to him and they proceeded from the Priory in solemn procession to pay him homage.

The Archbishop told them in a somewhat haughty way that this was not merely a formal visit; he wished to see how the Priory was run and whether it met with his approval. This was too much for the monks and the Sub Prior stepped forward.

‘My Lord Archbishop,’ he said, ‘you are newly come to this country and know not our customs. We have our revered Bishop of London whose place it is – and his alone – to come in this way.’

Boniface was incensed. He was aware of the sullen looks which followed him in the streets. He knew that his niece was resented. In a sudden temper he lifted his hand and struck the Sub Prior across the face with such strength that the man fell against a pillar and slipped to the ground.

Seeing him thus the Archbishop strode to him, tore the cape from his shoulders and stamped on it. He was about to turn on the Sub Prior who had risen shakily to his feet when one of the monks shouted: ‘Save the Sub Prior.’ And in a body they surrounded Boniface.

They realised then that beneath his robes Boniface was in armour and had clearly come ready for battle. Moreover he gave a shout to his followers, who threw off their outer garments and stood exposed in sword and armour ready for battle.

‘Go to then,’ shouted Boniface. ‘Show these English traitors what happens to those who withstand me.’

Whereupon Boniface’s armed men fell upon the defenceless monks, beat them, kicked them, tore off their garments and trampled on them.

Four of the monks escaped and went in all haste to the Bishop’s Palace. He was horrified to see them and even more so when he heard what had happened.

‘The arrogant foreigner,’ he cried. ‘Go at once to the King. Show him your wounds and tattered garments. Tell him what has happened. Only if he sees you thus can he realise the indignity you have suffered.’

On their way to the palace the monks were stopped by certain citizens who asked how they came to be in such a sorry state. They told how Boniface, the foreign Archbishop, had invaded the Priory and ill-treated them.

‘We will show this foreigner what it means to ill-treat our monks,’ cried one man. ‘We will get this Boniface. He will be less bonny of face when we have done with him.’

The monks went on to the palace.

The King was with the Queen in the nursery playing with the children when an attendant arrived to say that some monks who had been ill-treated by the Archbishop of Canterbury were asking for an audience with the King.

‘Ill-treated by my uncle!’ cried the Queen. ‘What nonsense is this?’

‘They have clearly been ill-treated, my lady,’ was the answer.

Henry turned to the man but Eleanor laid her hand on his arm.

‘Don’t see these monks,’ she whispered. ‘You know what this means. They are protesting against your choice of Archbishop. Didn’t they try to do that before?’

Henry looked at her. So they did.

‘You can depend upon it this is a trick. Tell them to go away.’

‘Tell them to go away,’ said Henry. ‘I shall not see them.’

The attendant bowed and retired.

Henry looked disturbed but Eleanor said: ‘Come and see how Edward throws this dice. I am sure he will be a real little gambler ere long.’

And Henry was glad to push the tiresome monks from his mind.

Meanwhile the people of London were gathering in the streets. Here was a chance to show their detestation of the foreigners. The monks had been ill-treated. Were they going to let this pass?

‘Where is the ruffian?’ they shouted. ‘Where is he who calls himself Archbishop and ill-treats our monks.’

It was a moment of horror for the Archbishop when, from the upper turret of the Priory, he saw the approaching mob.

He was armed and so were his followers but although they could defeat defenceless monks they might not stand such a good chance against an angry crowd bent on destruction.

‘Quick. We must get out of here,’ he shouted.

‘The river, my lord. Let us get down with all speed to the privy stairs.’

The man was right. There were several boats tied at the stairs, and in these there was room for everyone so the alarmed Archbishop accompanied by his servants managed to escape down the river.

At the palace he alighted and went at once to see the King and Queen.

Eleanor ran to him in some alarm.

‘All is well,’ he told her. ‘The monks of St Bartholomew’s should be reprimanded. Do you know they attacked me in their Priory.’

‘This is monstrous,’ cried the King.

‘I told them I would have none of their insolence and I taught the Sub Prior a lesson.’

‘Let us hope that he learned it well.’

‘I think he may do if you give him no pity. I feel sure that he and his fellows will come complaining to you of their illtreatment. I know your wisdom, nephew. You will give them short shrift.’

‘Henry will know how to deal with the rogues,’ declared Eleanor. ‘He knows they are telling him that they believe they should choose their Archbishop when all know it is the prerogative of the King.’

‘They will get no mercy or pity from me,’ said Henry firmly.

Eleanor laughed softly and slipped her arm through his.

Such incidents added to the gathering storm but neither the King nor the Queen seemed aware of this. When money was needed it seemed easy to inflict taxes. Henry indulged the Queen’s countrymen and women because it pleased her that he should. His personal extravagance was building. Architecture gave him a singular pleasure and he liked to plan new buildings and change old ones.

One of his favourite residences was Windsor. Here the countryside was particularly beautiful with the Thames winding its way through meadow and woodland. The very name owed itself to this for it was said by some that the Saxon name Windlesofra meant winding course. Others said that the name came from Wynd is Sore because on the high ground the wind in winter was fierce, while some insisted that Windsor meant Wind us Over and referred to the ferry boat with ropes and pole which was used to take people across.