It seemed that they had been a very short time there when a command came from the King. His son and daughter-in-law were to join him at Bures for he wished them to accompany him to England.

The young couple were dismayed.

‘It is as my father said it would be,’ cried Marguerite. ‘He wants you to be in England where he will make you his prisoner.’

Young Henry did not know what to do. To disobey the summons was unthinkable and yet what would it mean to go?

‘Your father said that if he would accept my homage it would be difficult for him to imprison me.’

‘I see that,’ replied Marguerite.

‘The only thing I can do is to implore him to allow me to swear fealty to him.’

‘Try that,’ advised his wife, ‘and if he refuses you will know you have to be on your guard. We might try to escape. My father thinks that if you have not sworn fealty as soon as you are on English soil you will be at his mercy.’

‘I am at his mercy now,’ grimaced young Henry.

‘But at least he cannot go against his vows so quickly.’

‘He can and will do anything he wishes. But at least I think he would wait awhile. I shall implore him to accept my homage. We shall then see what his reply is.’

When they reached Bures the King was impatiently awaiting their arrival. He embraced them warmly, asked after their health, particularly that of his daughter-in-law, for he was wondering whether she had become pregnant yet, and then told them that he was planning to sail for England immediately.

Young Henry asked if he might see him alone and permission was immediately granted.

‘My Father,’ he said, ‘I cannot believe that you love me as you do my brothers, and this makes me a most unhappy man.’

‘Why should you have such a notion? Are you not my eldest? And if you have rebelled against me so have your brothers. I have forgiven you and if you are a good son to me you can be sure of my love. How many fathers would have forgiven treachery such as you and your brothers showed towards me? And you say I do not love you!’

‘You have refused to accept my homage.’

‘Well, is that not because I have made you a king?’

‘It is but a title.’

‘Aye, but a title! There cannot be two kings in one realm. I made you a king, my son, so that when I die there will be no question as to who is my successor. You hold the title until you take the crown and that you can only do when I am not here to wear it.’

‘I am a king but in name. You are our sovereign lord. Yet you will not accept my homage. I can see no reason for this except that you do not love me.’

‘My dear son, if you wish to pay homage to me and take our oath of fealty then so shall it be.’

‘Oh, Father, then you do indeed love me.’

They embraced and the King said with emotion, ‘It pleases me to see you in this contrite mood.’

Tears of relief were on young Henry’s cheeks. If his father would accept his homage then he was safe.

‘I will arrange that this little ceremony shall take place without delay,’ said the King, ‘for I see that until it does you will think that I remain indignant towards you. You shall be treated as your brothers and then we shall be good friends. For that, my son, is to both our interests.’

Henry went to Marguerite and told her what the King had said. She was pleased.

‘But make sure he keeps his promise. You know his nature. He does not always think it necessary to keep a promise.’

This one, however, the King did keep.

The holy relics were produced and, placing his hands on these, young Henry swore his oath of allegiance to his father.

‘I will bear you faith against all men and as long as I live shall seek no harm either to my own men or to those of the King, my father, who have served in the war when we stood against each other. I will abide by your counsel in all my actions.’

The King listened, his expression softly affectionate.

When the oath was taken he embraced his son.

‘From now on you and I are the best of friends and that is good news for us and our dominions.’

Shortly afterwards they sailed for England.

The King’s first indulgence was to visit Alice. She was no longer the child she had been when she first became his mistress, for she had matured quickly. He grew more and more deeply enamoured of her because he was discovering greater depths of sensuality in her while she yet remained docile and undemanding. He had once thought Rosamund gave him all he needed but she lacked the voluptuous indulgence which was becoming more and more apparent in Alice. Alice was the perfect mistress. There was no doubt about that. He realised that during their most passionate moments Rosamund had in a manner of speaking glanced furtively over her shoulder to see whether the recording angel was in attendance. Love such as this should fill the moments; there should be no thought of the reckoning. If that came it must come later.

He wished that he could spend more time with Alice.

‘But now I am in England,’ he told her, ‘I shall see you more often. Will you always be so eager to see me?’

She assured him that she would.

He did not tell her that her betrothed Richard was asking that she go to him. He did not believe in spoiling such moments. Besides he had other matters with which to occupy him. He was particularly interested in his son Henry, whom he determined to keep beside him. This was not only because he did not trust him, he genuinely wanted to tutor him in the art of kingship. Young Henry had many good qualities. He was very good looking and quite charming. He had these assets which had never been his father’s. But he was frivolous and lacked his father’s dedication. He did not yet understand that to govern a kingdom – and particularly one which was so widespread – a ruler must never allow pleasure to stand in the way of his duty to his crown. He thought fleetingly of his Alice. Well, he compromised, hardly ever. And if the secret came out that he had taken Richard’s betrothed as his mistress, he would overcome that as he had other troubles. He would insist on a divorce. He would offer Louis marriage for his daughter … marriage to the King of England. And nothing would please him more.

Besides, when one had years of good rule behind one, one could take risks which an inexperienced man could not take.

So he would deal with this matter of his delightful Alice when the time came.

One of his first duties in England would be to visit the shrine of St Thomas, to pay homage to the saint who was now his good friend and working on his behalf in Heaven. There was now a new Archbishop, Richard, Prior of Dover, who had been unanimously elected and had held office for nearly a year. On the day he had been elected news had come from the Pope that Thomas a Becket’s name had been added to the list of saints.

Richard it seemed would not be a troublemaker, and for this the King was grateful. He could congratulate himself that everything had worked out very well.

As he travelled to Canterbury with young Henry beside him he received sad news from Count Humbert of Maurienne. His little daughter Alice who had been betrothed to Prince John had died suddenly. The King was momentarily dismayed and then it occurred to him that with John’s better prospects he might make a more advantageous match. It so often happened that these betrothals came to nothing. Children were affianced in their cradles and so it was small wonder that events occurred while they were growing up to prevent their marriages ever taking place.

John was now a free bargaining counter and his father would be alert for a more advantageous proposition.

And now to Canterbury.

The King watched his son as they rode. Too handsome, a little petulant still. And how insistent he had been that his homage should be accepted. Why was that? Had he really learned the folly of his ways?