They were dismayed. The trouble with their father had started because he wished to take from them to give to John – although the cause went deeper than that – and now they were worse off than when they had begun. But they could not protest, they knew. They could see the purpose in his face; and no matter how they might fulminate against him in his absence, face to face with him they knew his strength, and they feared it. He had had no hesitation in putting their mother into prison. They knew full well that any resistance to his wishes and they would end up in similar circumstances. He was, after all, according to his standards, acting very leniently towards them since they had all taken up arms against him.

‘There is one thing more,’ said the King, ‘I must have an assurance from you that you will not ask any more of me and that you will not withdraw yourselves or your service from me.’

This was perhaps the most important part of all but they knew it was impossible to evade it. They were here in this little village of Mont Louis near Tours and he could, if he wished, seize them. They were virtually his prisoners, for he was their master.

He was smiling at them.

‘Then we are friends,’ he said. ‘Richard, Geoffrey, you will do homage to me which will show that you are indeed my loyal sons and I your liege lord.’

His two sons knelt and swore allegiance to him and when this was done young Henry prepared to do the same.

His father smiled at him quizzically. ‘Nay, Henry,’ he said. ‘Are you not a king and a king of England? You could not then pay homage to me.’

A great fear touched the young man then. He said in a sudden panic: ‘You are my father. I will swear allegiance to you as my brothers have done.’

But the King shook his head. ‘Nay, my son.’ He laid his hand on young Henry’s shoulder and pressed it hard. ‘I shall expect loyalty from you and you will give it, for if you did not there could be terrible consequences … for you. But you will keep your vows. You will remember that I am your father, that it is from these hands that your good fortune flows. You shall be beside me. You shall be taught how to become a king in very truth and I shall be your tutor.’

Young Henry smiled faintly, but he was uneasy.

Now that he had made peace with his sons the King decided that he would keep them with him for a while that he might instill into them the need to keep to their promises.

Ruefully he reminded himself that they were his sons. He had not always kept his promises. What if they had taken after him in that respect? He imagined they had. They were fighters all of them; whether they would make good kings he was unsure. But they could doubtless be tutored. He wanted young Henry to carry on in the way he had, for he had followed to some measure the rules laid down by his two great predecessors. Could he rely on Henry to do the same? Not at this stage. Henry was too easily led; he gave too ready an ear to flatterers. That was a trait which was of no use to any king. One of his best men had been Richard de Luci, his Chief Justiciar; he could trust that man as he would few others and never had his trust been misplaced and never had Richard de Luci flattered him. Sometimes his frankness might have angered the King but only momentarily. He thanked God he was too good a ruler to run from his best friends because of a bit of plain speaking. Young Henry must learn this. He was constantly in the company of men who fawned on him. He was turning from William Marshall who was a good friend and a worthy knight. People like Philip of Flanders attracted him. Henry would be the first to admit that such men could be attractive, entertaining, amusing, but one did not attach too much importance to their friendship.

Young Henry had much to learn and where better could he learn it than at his father’s side?

And as yet he would wait and see where he would send his sons. Perforce for a time they should ride with him. It was good to make them think of him as a father, to repair some of the damage that she-wolf had done. He should have barred her from the nurseries. What an unnatural woman! How different it would have been if Rosamund had been his Queen … or Alice. Alice was young yet for bearing children. Sooner or later he would get her with child he doubted not. And then … ? That could take care of itself when the matter arose.

They had ridden through Anjou to Normandy. He had wanted the people to see his sons riding with him. Henry on one side, Richard on the other and young Geoffrey a pace or two behind. ‘See, we are united.’ That was what he was saying to the people. ‘Any who have rebellion in their minds get rid of it quickly. I am invincible … but with my sons beside me I am to be feared more than ever.’

Yes, it was good to ride through his dominions with his sons as companions.

In December they came to Argentan.

‘Here,’ he said, ‘we shall spend Christmas. It is good that we should all be together.’

It would be a merry Christmas. How wonderful it would be if little Alice were here with him as his Queen. Other women could not completely satisfy him. This was how it had been in the early days with Rosamund.

His foresters from England sent eighty deer to Argentan because, they said, there were no deer that could compare with those of England. The King must celebrate his Christmas with his sons and the deer of England.

He liked the gesture, although food had never been his great concern. He was glad though that it was recognised that this was a special Christmas.

He rode often with his sons and a few days before Christmas when he was returning to the castle he said to Richard: ‘You look woebegone, my son. Are you not well?’

‘I was thinking of my mother,’ said Richard.

The King’s face hardened. ‘Alas, she has a lesson to learn.’

‘It is a hard one, my lord.’

‘As traitors’ lessons must be.’

‘You have been kinder to your sons than to your wife,’ said Richard.

‘It is for me to decide what shall be the punishment of those who betray me.’

‘She did not fight against you.’

‘How could she … a woman?’

‘She but came to join us, her own sons.’

‘That she might instill in you the wish to rebel against your father.’

‘If she were at fault could you not forgive her now as you have us?’

‘Nay,’ he said, ‘I could not.’

‘But should you not be kind to your wife?’

‘By God’s eyes, Richard,’ cried the King, ‘would you presume to tell me my duty?’

‘Nay, Father, I think your heart will tell you that.’

‘It does, my son. And the message it gives me is “Keep that woman under restraint. She is a she-wolf who would teach her cubs to devour their father.”’

‘Their father would not allow that.’

‘By God’s hands, teeth and eyes he would not. But enough .. . enough I say. Be silent! Or I might change my mind regarding you. You would not wish to share your mother’s fate.’

Richard was silent. The familiar signs of anger were rising. Richard was too bold, decided the King. The lad would have to be taught a lesson. Of all his sons Richard made him the most uncomfortable. But perhaps that was because of Alice.

They feasted well on the deer from England and after the banquet the musicians played to them. Richard sang a song of his own composing which was about a knight who was betrothed to a fair maiden whom a wicked ogre had imprisoned in a castle. The song was about the knight’s love for his lady and his determination to face any odds in order to rescue his bride.

The King felt faintly uneasy and more so later when Richard was seated beside him and his son said: ‘Father, I am no longer a boy. Like the knight in the song I am betrothed.’

‘Oh yes … to young Alice. I hear she is a comely girl.’