Isabel had inherited the nature of her parents and although Philip was a virile husband she could not prevent her attention straying.

The young King listened to an account of the troubles between Philip and his wife. Both of them were related to Henry, for while Isabel was his cousin, Philip was descended from Fulk of Anjou; Philip’s grandmother, Sibyl, daughter of Fulk, was the sister of Henry’s grandfather, Geoffrey of Anjou. Hence the relationship.

At this time young Henry admired his kinsman Philip more than anyone he knew and he applauded everything he did with such an uncritical devotion that Philip could not help regarding him with great affection.

‘You have heard of Walter of Les Fontaines?’ he asked.

‘I heard he was dead. Was he not a knight of some fame?’

‘He was said to be a kind of Sir Lancelot and the name fits him well if you consider me as Arthur and Isabel as Guinevere.’

‘You are not telling me that Walter is Isabel’s lover?’

‘Was, cousin! Was! You do not think I would allow my wife to be unfaithful to me, do you?’

‘I believe you have not always been faithful to her.’

‘That is a different matter.’

‘Tell me of this Walter. I have heard there was a kind of legend about him.’

‘He was very handsome, very skilled. Few could stand against him at the tournament.’

‘You could, Philip.’

‘Few besides. Imagine my rage when I heard that Isabel had a fancy for him.’

‘She could not possibly have preferred him to you.’

‘She wanted us both, it seemed. I suspected that when I was away he became her lover.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I taunted him with it. He denied it. But then he would consider it would be the knightly thing to do.’

‘Did you torture him?’

‘No. I asked him, merely. I said I trusted his word as a knight.’

‘But if he were protecting a lady …’

‘Exactly so. I forbade him to enter my castle and made a plan. Oh, a simple one which I doubt not many a suspicious husband has used before. I made a great noise about going away for some days. I went and returned by stealth.’

‘And you discovered them …’

‘I caught him in her bedchamber. Now I had proved what I suspected and no one could blame me if I took action against him.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I asked him why he was there when my express command had been that he was not to enter the castle. I knew she had invited him but he would not betray her. I had him beaten until he was nothing but a mass of bleeding flesh but still he was determined to protect her. He was a knight until the end. He was elegant, you know. His linen was scented and he was most careful in his person. I believe it was that which she found so appealing. It seemed a good revenge therefore to hang him over a cesspool and this I did. He stayed there until he died.’

Henry’s eyes gleamed. ‘So I would act towards a lover of Marguerite’s if I should so discover him.’

‘And none could blame you. None blamed me. A betrayed husband has his rights.’

‘And Isabel? What was her punishment? You could have put her from you.’

‘What! With the rich lands of Vermandois at stake? I did not want trouble there. She is a beautiful woman and it was a warning to her.’

Henry nodded and admired his friend more than ever.

‘All this has delayed my departure for the crusade,’ went on Philip. ‘That is why I have not gone. I must remain a while because of it. But I shall go in due course. It will be an even greater excitement than the tournament and I have a few sins to ask pardon for.’

‘When you go, Philip,’ declared Henry, ‘I shall accompany you.’

As the influence of Philip of Flanders grew stronger over young Henry that of old friends like William the Marshall and his Vice-Chancellor, Adam of Churchdown, waned. William, for all that he was a knight who loved to take part in tournaments and did in fact shine in them, was of a serious nature and he was disturbed to see Henry becoming rather dissolute and more arrogant than ever.

He tried to remonstrate with him, pointing out that his father had commanded him to assist Richard and would be most displeased when he heard that he spent his time in extravagant pleasure.

‘By God, William,’ cried Henry, ‘it would seem that you are a greater friend to my father than to me.’

‘I serve you both with all my heart,’ answered William.

‘The time is coming when it will not be possible to serve us both. Then you will have to make a choice.’

‘I pray that time will never come,’ answered William.

‘I pray it will come very soon. I have been in leading strings too long. Am I the King of England or am I not?’

‘You are King in truth for your father has had the crown put on your head, but it behoves us all to remember that he is the master of us all.’

‘God damn him, William. I’ll not be his slave.’

‘It is not his slave he would make you. He wants you to learn kingship from him and then when the time comes, to take over from him. It is a fatherly concern.’

‘To the devil with his fatherly concern. He is a miser, and you know it, William.’

‘Hush, my lord, do not say that which could be construed as treason.’

‘Faint-hearted William!’ taunted Henry.

‘Nay, my lord. Strong-hearted and strong in the arm I trust when it comes to protecting you.’

Marguerite was pregnant.

‘St Thomas has interceded for me,’ she declared. ‘Oh, how happy I am! I shall pray for a son.’

‘That son,’ said Henry proudly, ‘will one day be King of England.’

‘I trust he will never try to take the crown from his father as you have from yours.’

Henry was angry. ‘Dost think that I would deserve such treatment? Besides,’ he added shrewdly, ‘he will never be crowned King while I live.’

He was delighted. It was gratifying to become a father.

Messages must be sent to the Kings of England and France to inform them that they would become grandparents.

He thought of Richard, battling away in Aquitaine. He had always been a little jealous of Richard because their mother had doted on him so much. He wondered why, for Richard was not in the least like her. Richard was a throw-back to their Norman ancestors. Old Rollo must have looked a little like him.

Richard was succeeding in subduing Aquitaine because he was such a brilliant fighter but it was said that he would never be acceptable to the people, for he was alien to everything they were. He was so essentially of the North; he could be hard and cruel; and although he had some talents as a musician and poet he was very different from their mother’s languorous people. And if they did not accept Richard might they not accept someone who was more like themselves, someone who was content to enjoy life and did not want to be continually going into battle, someone who was easy going, who would enjoy the comfortable and easy life?

Why not?

This was a good life but inactivity was becoming boring. Intrigue was exciting and nothing could be more exciting than intrigue against the one whom he most wanted to defeat: his own father. One of his most glorious dreams was that his father, subdued and penitent, came to him to beg his pardon and ask that there might be an end to the strife between them. He could never completely shut out the memory of that humiliating scene when he had gone to his father, knelt before him and begged to be allowed to pay him homage. And the aftermath, that public statement of his humility! He would never forgive his father for that.

Suppose he stirred up a revolt – in Normandy perhaps? There were always people ready to revolt. On the other hand suppose he put out feelers to Aquitaine? Would the people there rather have him than Richard?