‘Then why has this coronation not taken place?’

‘Because the moment has not been ripe.’

‘I see not why this should be.’

Henry surveyed Louis – father of his dear little Alice. What would Louis say if he told him that he loved his young daughter, the betrothed of his son Richard, that he had already deflowered the girl and was determined to keep her as his mistress and if possible marry her?

He laughed inwardly at the thought and at the memory of that lovely childish form.

‘It shall be as you wish,’ said Henry. ‘I will send the young people to England without delay. Henry shall be crowned again and this time Marguerite with him.’

Louis nodded. The King of England was in an acquiescing mood.

‘I should like the Archbishop Rotrou to accompany them to England and perform the ceremony.’

‘My dear brother, a foreign Archbishop to perform such a ceremony? It has never been done.’

‘The alternative would be Roger of York would it not?’

‘Roger of York crowned my son.’

‘He was a traitor to the Archbishop of Canterbury,’ said Louis firmly. ‘I would not wish my daughter to be crowned by one who had played false such a great good man.’

Henry was silent; his fingers had begun to twitch. So this one-time monk, this husband of Eleanor at whom she had jeered in the first days of her marriage to Henry, this rival king would tell him how to run his kingdom! By God’s eyes … he thought and then: But he is the father of my little Alice. I must go carefully. When I divorce Eleanor and openly take Alice to my bed I shall need the support of her father.

‘I would not wish Roger of York even to attend the ceremony,’ went on Louis. ‘Nor the Bishops of London and Salisbury. They were all enemies of the saintly Archbishop and did much to bring about his sorrowful end. In my eyes they would contaminate any ceremony they attended.’

Thinking of little Alice Henry said: ‘It shall be as you wish. The young people shall be crowned and the ceremony performed by Archbishop Rotrou.’

Louis was a little taken aback. He had expected protests. There was a subtle change in Henry. It is because of the death of the martyr, thought Louis. He is truly penitent.

Henry went on to Normandy and the young couple sailed for England for their crowning.

Henry had decided that he would spend the coming Christmas in Chinon in Anjou for he was making a complete tour of his dominions to assure himself that his fortresses were at full strength. He sent a message to Eleanor asking her to join him for Christmas at Chinon. He thought he might sound her as to the possibility of a divorce.

She expressed willingness and he decided that this should be a family gathering. He wanted to give the impression that he had done what he could to keep his family together.

Henry and Marguerite should join them too. A message was accordingly sent to them commanding them to make their preparations to leave at once.

The young King was angry. He liked being in England where he was the King, and where life was particularly enjoyable when his father was not present. It seemed an admirable arrangement for his father to stay in Normandy while he governed England. He was surrounded by sycophants who assured him that England could not have a better King and he believed them. He was fond of Marguerite; she was a pleasant little Queen and he liked to ride out with her beside him and listen to the acclaim of the people. Young monarchs were always so appealing.

But to go to Chinon and be under the shadow of his father was the last thing he wanted.

‘I shall not go,’ he told Marguerite, but of course he had to change his mind. His friends told him how unwise it would be to disobey his father.

‘I’m not a king,’ he complained to Marguerite. ‘I just have a crown, that’s all. Can you imagine my father’s giving away any little power? But he won’t always be here. He’ll go off one day with all his sins on him when he’s in one of those tempers of his. Men have fallen down dead when they are in such a state as he gets into. I don’t think it will be long now, Marguerite.’

Marguerite was sure it wouldn’t.

There came another message from the King. His good friend the King of France, he wrote, had expressed a desire to see his daughter, so the young couple must leave without delay and before they came to Chinon they must stay a while at the Court of France.

‘I should like to see my father,’ said Marguerite.

Young Henry was secretly pleased. He could pretend he was not really obeying his father in leaving at once but gratifying his wife’s whim to see her father.

And so they left England as soon as the winds were fair enough and most joyfully did Louis receive them at his court which at that time he was holding at Chartres.

Louis loved his children dearly. He asked news of little Alice.

‘Poor child,’ he said, ‘she is young to be brought up in a strange land.’

‘We all suffer it, my lord,’ answered Marguerite, for indeed she herself had been brought up in the same foreign court, although much of her time had been spent in Aquitaine with Queen Eleanor.

Louis nodded. ‘’Tis the lot of royal princes and princesses. Tell me did you see the child before you left?’

‘I did see her, Father. She seemed happy enough.’

‘Thank God. Soon she will have her wedding day. She is almost ready.’

‘Yes, and Richard is very handsome, I believe. Not so much so as Henry, but he is very good looking.’

‘And you are happy with your young Henry, my child?’

‘Yes, Father.’

‘And when Alice is Duchess of Aquitaine she will not seem so far from me. Your husband seems not very pleased with his lot, Marguerite.’

‘His father angers him gravely. He treats him as a boy.’

‘Is that so?’ Louis smiled faintly. He could not help liking to hear criticism of Henry Plantagenet. Deep down in his heart he had always borne a grudge against him for taking Eleanor. Life had been more peaceful without her, but he often thought of the first time he had seen her. What a beautiful young woman she had been! And what vivacity she had had! She had been so clever. Half the Court had been in love with her. He sighed. He should have known he would never keep her. She had not been faithful to him. How long before she had deceived him? Was her uncle the first on that never to be forgotten journey to the Holy Land? And the Saracen? Had she really contemplated marrying him? He would never forget the shock she had given him when she had demanded a divorce. The Pope had persuaded her against it then but when she saw Henry Plantagenet she had fallen so deeply in love with him that she had determined to marry him.

Henry had only been Duke of Normandy then and as the owner of Aquitaine she had been richer than he was. Henry was nearly twelve years her junior. Strange that she, so fastidious, taking such care with her appearance, setting the fashions, caring for her body with unguents and perfumes should have become so wildly enamoured of rather stocky Henry who wore his clothes for convenience rather than ornament and never bothered to wear gloves when he went out in the most bitter weather so that his hands were red and chapped. Of course he had a power, a strength which Louis completely lacked. He had charm too, particularly for women. He emanated strength and power. He supposed that was what they liked.

But the two kings were inherent enemies. There could scarcely be any other relationship between them. Any Duke of Normandy must almost certainly be at odds with the King of France. The Franks had never forgiven the Vikings for raiding their land and making things so unpleasant for their ancestors that to stop their sailing up the Seine to Paris they had been bought off with that northern province which was called Normandy. That went back to the days of Rollo but it rankled still. There was one thing to be grateful for; the Dukes of Normandy like the Counts of other provinces had remained vassals of the King of France.