Unlike his brother Henry, Richard was not capable of deceit. Had he not been nicknamed ‘Richard Yea and Nay’ because he would give a clear confirmation or denial to any question and he would mean it? He was not afraid of the truth.

He said now: ‘I shall not do homage to my brother for Aquitaine. It was my mother’s wish that I should inherit her lands. I do not owe it to you, and it has nothing to do with your dominions. Henry may be your eldest son but I am your son also and the son of my mother. I will give homage to no one for Aquitaine save the King of France which custom and tradition demand.’

Curse you, Richard, thought his father yet half admiringly. You are right of course. Aquitaine is not Normandy nor Anjou. But why cannot you be an obedient son!

‘You will obey my wishes,’ he shouted.

‘I shall do no such thing.’

The King whipped up his rage but he felt no real anger, only fear of this son who was the betrothed of Alice. He could not help even at this moment wondering what he would say if he knew that she had been seduced by his father and had already borne him a child.

Richard turned away.

‘Come back,’ cried the King; but Richard took no notice.

The King stood looking at his sons Henry and Geoffrey.

‘By God’s eyes,’ cried the King, ‘I’ll not be flouted by my own sons.’

‘Richard declares he will be curbed by no one,’ said Henry.

‘You have seen him defy me,’ replied the King. ‘What will you do about that?’

‘Methinks,’ commented Henry, ‘that your son Richard should be taught a lesson.’

Then we are in complete agreement,’ said the King.

Young Henry was exultant.

Richard had played right into his hands. If he were going to teach Richard a lesson how could he do it better than by taking Aquitaine?

Richard meanwhile was riding back to his Duchy.

Young Henry, with Geoffrey beside him, exultantly rode towards Aquitaine.

‘Now,’ he said, ‘we will show our father of what stuff we are made! Richard too. They have had enough of him in Aquitaine. They like not these stern men who call themselves just. Richard with his warlike ways and the fierce punishment he metes out to offenders has lost their regard. They want to be rid of him. I know how the people of Aquitaine wish to be ruled and it fits in very well with what I want.’

He thought of himself presiding over the great tables in his castles. There would be song and laughter; he would delight his subjects with the tournaments he would devise. He saw himself riding into the arena and the ladies would smile at him from the dais. All would vie with each other for his favours. Marguerite would be proud of him. He would wear her colours.

That was the way to rule. That was the way the Provencals wanted it. Richard had no understanding of them.

What great good fortune for him that Richard was hated so much.

When he reached the borders of Aquitaine many nobles were waiting for him and with them their followers.

He would have a great army. He could not fail.

Very well, Richard, he said to himself, you would not swear fealty to me. I can do without your oath. I shall simply take what you will not give.

When the King heard what was happening in Aquitaine he was filled with anxiety.

Brothers fighting against each other! It was the way to disaster.

What kind of men have we bred between us, Eleanor and I? he asked himself. Why was it that the sons he had had by other women had been his good and loyal subjects? Was it, as Eleanor had said, because they had no rights and all their benefits came from him, whereas those who had been born in wedlock believed what was his became theirs by right. Was it because his union with Eleanor had always been doomed?

There were rumours about his ancestors. It was said that one of the Counts of Anjou when riding in the forest met a woman of such beauty that he was captivated by her and married her. Her beauty was such that all marvelled at it; however she was reluctant to enter a church and when she did always left before the consecration of the Host. This puzzled her husband and several years after their marriage one day just as she was about to leave the church he caught hold of her cloak and he would not release it.

Suddenly she was said to have floated upwards, holding two of her children by the hand. She disappeared, leaving her bewildered husband holding her cloak. It was said that she was a witch and a servant of the devil. Although she had taken two children with her she had left two behind and one of these became the next Count of Anjou.

This legend lived on and because of it many said that there was a satanic streak in the blood of the Angevin Counts.

Was it true? wondered Henry. Had it come down through him? Was it this in him which had made him seduce his son’s betrothed? Was it this that set his sons warring against each other and their father?

Nay, he told himself, it is from their mother that they get their natures.

What was his sin in taking Alice compared with Eleanor’s incest with her uncle?

And what could be expected of the offspring of twp people such as himself and Eleanor?

But he must stop this brooding. There was work to be done. He would go with all speed to Limoges where Henry was encamped and put a stop to this attempted fratricide without delay.

On the way he met Richard who welcomed his coming.

With his father on his side against his brothers he could not fail to succeed.

‘This grieves me greatly,’ said the King. ‘Does nothing I say have any effect on you?’

‘You have always favoured Henry,’ Richard reproached him. ‘Yet he has deceived you right and left, and shown quite clearly that he is unfit to govern.’

‘He is my eldest son and you have all defied me. My sons are a bitter disappointment to me … except John.’

‘John is as yet too young to have a mind of his own,’ replied Richard.

‘I trust in his affection.’

The King decided that he would have to parley with Henry who was in Limoges.

‘I will accompany you,’ said Richard, ‘and we will take a company of troops with us.’

‘Nay,’ said the King. ‘I’d have them know I come to talk in peace. They will recognise me and no harm will come.’

‘I trust them not,’ said Richard.

‘You will remain here while I go forward to the town and I shall take with me but a small company of knights.’

‘I do not like it,’ replied Richard.

‘My son, you will have to learn that I do as I will.’

As he rode forward he was thinking: Oh, Henry, my son, why cannot you be the affectionate little boy you were in the nursery, before your mother changed you? Why did your ambitions have to rob you of your sense of honour? How can I give you what you ask? I must rule. I am experienced in the ways of rulers. You do not understand. To rule is not to enjoy a life of pleasure. What pleasure I have had has been snatched in between forays here, punitive expeditions there and all the cares that beset a king who has wide-flung dominions. If you understood you would rejoice that I am here to rule and you to learn from me so that in time you can keep your kingdom in your hands.

They were approaching the town. He rode at the head of the company. Above his head fluttered his pennant proclaiming him as the King of England, sovereign of them all.

Suddenly a stream of arrows shot up in the air. One of his men shouted: ‘The King comes.’

There was another flurry of arrows. One pierced the King’s cloak.

‘My lord,’ said his standard bearer, ‘they know who you are and they are trying to kill you. We are not fitted to meet their attack.’