He began to grow excited. If he could get away he could go to the King of France, and there he could rally men to his banner. His mother would help him, for she hated her husband. Why should he wait on his father for years and years until he was an old man without ambition?

His father seemed to sense that rebellion in him. He kept him at his side and at night he insisted that they share the same room.

‘It will show all what good friends we have become,’ he said jocularly.

Young Henry said nothing. He was afraid of betraying his thoughts.

He had sounded one or two of his friends. Would they be ready to follow him? They were cautious. They greatly feared the King’s rages. Already he had dismissed certain knights from his son’s suite with dire warnings of what would happen to them if he ever found them speaking treason. And yet the young King had great charm, his mother hated his father to such an extent that she had been heard to swear that she would never live with him again. It was said that when she had gone off to Aquitaine she had declared she would never return. There was certainly some truth in this because the Archbishop of Rouen had warned her that if she left her husband the Church would blame her and this could lead to excommunication.

Eleanor cared as little for the Church as her husband did and had ignored the Archbishop’s reproof. But it showed how much she disliked his father and that she would be ready to help her son against him.

Moreover the King was still under the shadow of suspicion which had risen from the murder of the Archbishop of Canterbury. There had been whispers that Heaven would not allow him to prosper.

In the circumstances there were some who were ready to support the young King against the old and the former, discovering who these were, made his plans for escape.

They had reached the chateau of Chinon. It had been an exhausting day’s ride and the older Henry was very tired. He said they would retire early and get a good night’s sleep before setting off early in the morning.

No sooner had his father fallen into a deep sleep than young Henry rose from his bed, dressed hastily and made his way to the stables. There horses were saddled and waiting and he and a few of his trusted knights rode with great speed towards the French border.

When the King awoke to find his son had gone his rage was intense. He roared at his attendants, cuffing them right and left. Why had he not been told? Who had aided his son? Who had gone with him? By God’s eyes, they should be sorry they had ever been born.

But he was quick to realise that he was wasting his time giving way to his fury. His son would have gone to the French border. He had hinted as much. He would seek sanctuary with Louis which was the last thing Henry wanted him to do.

He shouted instructions. They were leaving at once and they would change direction. They were going to the French border. He sent riders in several directions and mounting the fastest of his horses he set out on the chase.

Young Henry, however, had had a good start and although his father made every effort to catch up with him, he failed to do so and after two days Henry arrived at the Court of France.

Louis was delighted to see him. At the evening’s banquet given in Henry’s honour, he sat at the right hand of the King of France. He told young Henry that he would support him in his claim for Normandy for he thought it fair to do so. The young man had sworn his oath of allegiance to Louis his suzerain and therefore the King regarded him as a vassal. If he wished to gain territory which by right belonged to him then his cause was a just one and the King saw it as his duty to aid his vassal.

Young Henry was delighted. He had taken the first step and it had been comparatively easy.

When the King of England heard that his son was at the Court of France and being entertained with honour by the King of France, his anger flared up.

He sent a message to Louis in which he said that the King of England demanded that his son be sent back to him.

Louis’s reply was: ‘I do not understand this message. The King of England is with me. If by the King of England you mean the King’s father, then I do not regard him as the King of England. He was I know formerly King of England but he resigned his crown to his son, and is no longer King.’

When Henry received this message he bit his lips and hit his thighs with his clenched fists until he was bleeding and bruised.

He was angry as much with himself as with his son and the King of France.

He had no doubt now that his greatest act of folly had been to allow his son to be crowned King.

The news reached Eleanor of Aquitaine where she was holding one of her Courts of Love in which her troubadours sang romantic songs and brought their literary efforts for her to judge.

The messengers came from the Court of France and she stopped the singing that she might hear the news without delay.

When she heard that her son Henry had successfully escaped from his father she laughed with pleasure.

‘Rejoice,’ she cried. ‘He is my true son after all. He has decided that he will no longer endure the bonds of tyranny. Ah, how I wish I could have seen my husband when he received that news. I doubt he ever fell into a greater rage. No more singing. I wish to be alone with my sons.’

When the troubadours had left in a somewhat crestfallen manner she turned to Richard and said: ‘You know what this means?’

‘It means that we are going to war against my father.’

‘Henry must not be foolish. He will not be, I am sure. Louis will guide him. I doubt not that there are many who will rally to his banner. And you, my sons – yes, you too, Geoffrey, must join him without delay that he may know that he has you to support him.’

‘We should leave immediately,’ said Richard, his eyes gleaming at the thought of battle and particularly that it should be conflict against the father whom he hated.

Geoffrey was eager too. At this time he always wanted to follow Richard.

She smiled from one to the other,

‘This is the moment. Your brother will shortly be King in very truth.’

Geoffrey said: ‘Our father is a very great soldier, Mother.’

‘He was. Don’t forget that he murdered the Archbishop of Canterbury. That is something which will never be forgotten. There is a curse on him for what he did to that saint. All men know it. You will see he cannot prosper now. That is why the time is ripe to attack him. You see, the King of France who I have good reason to know is the mildest of men, is ready to help your brother against him. Louis thought highly of Thomas a Becket. He loathes his murderer. Louis will see himself as the instrument of God who is to strike down the man who has offended all Christendom and Heaven too.’

‘Our mother is right,’ cried Richard. ‘I will be ready to start for the Court of France tomorrow.’

‘Then I will accompany you,’ replied Geoffrey.

Eleanor embraced them both and they prepared to start.

Eleanor watched them from the topmost turret of the castle.

How brave they looked seated on their horses, their pennants waving in the breeze. She watched until she could see them no more.

In her chamber she wrote verses on the sadness of parting with loved ones. How she missed Richard! She wondered whether he missed his life with her. He had always been a warrior in the making. Had he forgotten the pleasant hours they had spent together? Was he content to leave her now and march against his father?

She could not settle to write. She wanted action now. She should have been riding out with her sons. She pictured herself on her horse, her standard bearer riding before her, going into battle against the man she hated.