His time was spent between John and Alice now. He was getting older. Perhaps he was lonely even though he was always surrounded by men and women. This craving for affection persisted. He supposed it was because his wife hated him and sometimes it seemed his sons only cared for what they could get from him.

Not so Alice. She loved him for himself. She bore no grudge because he had taken her when she was an innocent child; she never upbraided him because he had not procured the promised divorce. She always understood; she always set herself out to please and never to criticise.

He could be sure of Alice. He hoped he could be sure of John.

He was glad that John’s marriage to Alice of Maurienne would not take place now. He had thought that to become Marquis of Italy would have been a fine solution to his problems, for such John would have been if her dower had come to him. He had already found estates for John in England. He had given him the Earldoms of Cornwall and Nottingham and he proposed to make him King of Ireland.

Another idea occurred to him, and he saw a possibility of John becoming the owner of very large properties in Gloucester.

Robert Earl of Gloucester, illegitimate son of Henry I and therefore Henry’s mother’s brother, had been her chief supporter during her claim to the throne and taught Henry himself a great deal that was good for him and had helped to make him the man he was. Henry remembered well his grief when the Earl had died. How strange it was that often the sons of good and faithful men turned out to be traitors.

Thus it was with the Earl’s son, Earl William of Gloucester.

William, who had inherited vast estates from his father, had become involved in the rebellion against the King. When Henry considered this he became very angry indeed. How different he was from his father and considering that there was a blood tie between them the perfidy seemed more unpardonable than ever.

William was now in his power and the King had him brought before him.

Expecting dire punishment William came in trembling, but the King who was considering John’s future had an idea which seemed to him a good one.

‘William,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you have betrayed my trust in you. I wonder what your father would say if he were here and knew that you had played the traitor.’

William was shamed at the mention of his father.

‘I remember him well,’ went on Henry. ‘My mother never had a more faithful friend than her bastard half-brother; and when I was young nor did I. I shall never forget the day I heard of his death. It was as though a part of my life had ceased to be, and now you, his son, stand before me as a traitor.’

‘My lord,’ cried William, ‘what can I do to win your forgiveness?’

The King shook his head. ‘You have robbed me of my trust in you. ’Tis a sad thing when those of the same blood work against each other. Your grandfather was also mine. It is for that reason that I do not throw you into a dungeon. You see, I respect blood ties. Mind you, a king has his duty and he must guard his realm, no matter what conditions are demanded of him. Not only did my son conspire against me, but so did those whom I should have thought I might have trusted. There is, though, a way in which we could heal this wound. You have a young unmarried daughter and I have a son, John.’

William was alert. Could the King really be suggesting a union between Prince John and his daughter?

He had no sons and three daughters, two of whom were married. The youngest, Isabel, was one of John’s age. He was slightly dismayed, for he hoped to have a son and if he did how could he be denied his heritage?

The King went on: ‘Let your daughter become betrothed to my son John and your earldom and land would fall to him through marriage with your daughter.’

‘My daughters who are married …’ began William.

But the King waved his hand. ‘I have considered this. The Crown will compensate them. They shall each be paid one hundred pounds a year.’

‘My lord,’ began William, ‘this is a great opportunity for my daughter and I should be happy for her to grasp it with both hands but if I should have a son …’

The King had thought of that too. He said glibly: ‘Then the lands should be divided between him on the one side and John and your daughter on the other.’

‘Then I am happy,’ replied William. ‘But I have one fear. The blood tie between these children is a strong one. It may be that the marriage will not be possible on grounds of consanguinity.’

‘I will prevail upon the Pope to grant a dispensation. I do not think he will wish to go against my wishes. Let there be a betrothal and if by some ill chance the dispensation should not be given, then I will find a rich and worthy husband for your daughter. What say you to this, William?’

What could William say? He could, after all, be condemned as a traitor.

The King was well pleased. John was now happily settled and provided for. Never more would he be known as John Lackland. The boy would be grateful to his father. Now all his children were settled and provided with partners – except Richard.

It seemed that every way he turned he came back to Alice.

Louis was determined not to allow the matter of his daughter’s marriage to be further shelved. There was some reason for it, he knew. It was a most extraordinary situation and knowing Henry he suspected some perfidy.

The Pope had acted in a somewhat lukewarm manner and he was determined to get satisfaction.

Alexander had no more desire to offend Louis than he had to offend Henry and he knew he must take some decisive steps in this matter. He therefore let it be known that unless the marriage of Richard and Alice took place without delay he would place an interdict on all Henry’s lands not only on the Continent of Europe but in England itself.

Henry fumed but he did not on this occasion fly into one of his uncontrollable rages. There was too much at stake to fritter away his energies so fruitlessly. He had to think of a way to save Alice for himself.

When one was in the wrong it was always a good idea to turn the tables and accuse the one who had been wronged.

He now pleaded to the Pope that Louis had not given up the territories he had promised for Alice’s dowry, implying that it was this default on the part of the French King which was responsible for the delay. Of course, he announced, he would agree to the marriage of Alice and Richard when these matters were settled. In the meantime he proposed to visit Louis himself and perhaps they could arrive at some conclusion.

Before sailing he went to spend a night with Alice.

She was frightened, poor child, because rumours of the conflict between her father and lover had reached her ears. But quickly he soothed her. Did she not trust him to see that nothing came between them?

Dear little Alice, was she not his beloved and had she not been so for a long time now? Hadn’t she learned to trust him? Didn’t she know that with him all things were possible?

Alice did know this. She was confident that all would be well.

So Henry would visit him. Louis was puzzled. He must be on his guard.

He was several years older than Henry but constantly seemed to be at a disadvantage with him. He must be some fourteen years his senior and Henry was forty-four. Louis felt his years sorely. Life had been difficult for him, but it had had some wonderful moments. The early days of his marriage with Eleanor had given him most of these. That was when he had innocently believed that they were going to be happy for the rest of their lives. The birth of his son Philip was another. What a joyous day that had been when he had learned that at last he had a son.