In the midst of the upheaval caused by this matter, Henry of England arrived.

Such was the reputation of Henry Plantagenet that when he came at the head of an army terror filled the hearts of all those whom he considered his enemies.

It was therefore with great relief that Philip of Flanders received a message that the King of England wished to speak with him and Philip of France before he went into battle against them.

‘We should meet the King of England,’ said the Count.

‘Why so?’ demanded young Philip. ‘How dare he come over here threatening me! I am the King, am I not?’

‘You are, but soon might not be if Henry moved against us. Louis still lives and we have many enemies. Let us be cautious. We should certainly not go to war against Henry Plantagenet if we can help it.’

‘Young Henry is with him. I thought he was my friend and he is false … quite false.’

‘Do not think too harshly of him. He will one day be the King of England, it will be well to keep on good terms with him.’

‘My father never really trusted the King of England.’

‘Nor should you. We will meet them and outwit them, which is a cleverer way of dealing with an opponent than fighting in battle.’

But Henry refused to allow the Count of Flanders to join them. He now wished to speak to young Philip alone, he insisted, and the Count was forced to accede to the wishes of the King of England.

When the meeting took place Henry studied the young King of France. A poor creature, he thought, and could not help comparing him with his own sons. There was not one of them who was not handsome. Poor Louis! He had staked everything on this boy and what had he got? A stripling so eager for power that he was snatching the crown from his father’s head before he was dead. His own were as bad, he knew; but at least they looked like men.

And Philip of Flanders … an ambitious man! Well, he could understand that. The Count would have liked to be a king, and since he was not he was doing his best to make himself one. He would have to be watched. Henry had more respect for him than he had for the young King.

‘My lord King,’ he said kindly, ‘I would speak to you as a father. I beg of you take care how you act. Your mother is sorely distressed. Your uncles too. These people wish you well. You cannot treat them churlishly as you have been doing. This is not worthy of you.’

Young Philip glowered. Who was this man? To whom did he think he was talking?

He said: ‘The Duke of Normandy is somewhat bold.’

The King burst out laughing. ‘I come not to you as the Duke of Normandy to pay homage to my overlord, but as the King of England who is brother to the King of France and at this time sees that brother in sore need of help.’

‘I understand you not,’ replied Philip.

‘Then let me explain. My good friend King Louis of France lies on his sick bed. While he lives there can only be one King of France in fact although another – and rightly – bears the title too and when the time is ripe should take the crown. There are worthy men in your kingdom who do not care to see the Queen and her family humiliated.’

‘Is it for them to like what I do?’

‘Kings rule by the will of the people.’

‘It surprises me to hear the King of England speak so.’

‘A strong king rules his people and if he does it well, however strict his laws, if they be just the people will accept them and welcome his rule. A strong good king is respected by his people and without that respect the crown sits uneasily on his head.’

Philip lowered his eyes. He knew that he was no match for the King of England.

‘Now,’ went on Henry, ‘you should become reconciled to your mother. The people do not like to see you harsh with her. The mothers of the nation will turn against you and they may persuade their sons to do the same. You need the services of men such as your uncles. Bring them to Court. Listen to what they say. A king does not necessarily take the advice of his ministers but he listens to them.’

It was not easy for young Philip to withstand Henry’s arguments and before the interview was over he had decided to call back his mother and receive his uncles at Court.

When the Count of Flanders heard what had taken place he knew that he had lost and must temporarily retire from the field.

It was at this time that Louis’s illness took a more serious turn.

On a September night he became very ill and it was obvious that the end was not far off. Adela was with him at the end and that seemed to comfort him. Philip knelt by his bedside and wept with remorse, for now that he had been obliged to accept the return of his uncles and was friendly with his mother again he realised how rash he had been and what a bad impression he had made on his subjects by trying to take the crown while his father still lived.

As for Louis he lay back with a smile of serenity on his face.

This was the end. He was not sorry, for it had not been an easy life. Ever since he had known that his destiny was to wear the crown he had been afraid, often he had longed for the peace which he believed would have come to a man of the Church. The way had often been stormy. He would never forget the cries of men and women dying in battle. He had been haunted by them throughout his life. There had been good moments – with Eleanor in the beginning; with his children and particularly with Philip.

But it was all over.

‘My son …’ he murmured.

Philip kissed his hand.

‘God bless you, my son. A long and happy reign. Farewell, Philip, farewell France.’

Then Louis closed his eyes and died.

BERENGARIA

Side by side with his good friend Sancho, Prince of Navarre, rode Richard, Duke of Aquitaine. It was rarely that he took time off from the continual battle to hold the Dukedom, but he considered this a political mission for he had a favour to ask of the King of Navarre.

Sancho, that Prince known as the Strong, had invited him to a tournament which was being held in Pampeluna and Richard was noted for his skill in the joust; moreover, he and Prince Sancho had a good deal in common, for besides being brave warriors they were also poets.

In the court of Sancho the Wise – father of Sancho the Strong – the troubadours flourished as they did in Aquitaine. So as the two young men rode south they had much to talk of.

Richard made a fine figure on his horse, being so tall and with those blond good looks which were rare in this part of the country. Although he suffered periodically from a distressing disease known as the quartan ague he was otherwise very strong and healthy. He had picked up this ague when he was in his early teens and it was no doubt due to sleeping so often on the damp ground when in camp. His limbs would tremble and the effect was extraordinary for the fierceness of his cold blue eyes belied this trembling. It was said among his soldiers that when the ague was on him he was at his most fierce, and those who did not know him well, thinking it might be the outward sign of some inner weakness, soon learned to the contrary. There seemed to be a compulsion within him to belie the trembling. His ruthlessness increased, and he became noted for his cruelty. If a prisoner was brought before him and showed signs of believing he might take advantage of him because he was seen to tremble, that man would be condemned to have his eyes put out that he might never more look on Richard’s trembling. The people of Aquitaine were beginning to fear him, and he had not yet understood that, although they were not by nature warlike and their love of soft living and poetry and song was their main characteristic, they were not of a nature to accept tyranny; and resentment, fanned by the verses of their poets, was smouldering and ready to burst into flame. There was trouble brewing in Aquitaine. The people did not want this Norseman to rule them – for although his mother might be their own Eleanor and his father the son of Geoffrey of Anjou on his mother’s side he was descended from the Conqueror and those barbarians who had sailed from the Northern lands to pillage and conquer.