‘They like not to see me in captivity.’

‘Then mayhap they will be pleased to see the land restored to you.’

‘What mean you, Henry?’

‘That I am commanding Richard to give back Aquitaine to you.’

‘To me.’ Her eyes were alight with excitement. He watched her closely. This was the way to act.

‘Richard must by nature of his age be my heir. He will have England, Normandy, Anjou, all that Henry would have had, had he lived. We have another son, John. I would have my dominions divided equally.’

‘So you want Aquitaine for John.’

‘I want Aquitaine for you.’

‘And I shall return to my country.’ For a moment her emotions were too much for her to control. ‘Oh, my God, how I have longed to be there. How the cold of Salisbury Castle has seeped into my bones. I long for the sun.’

He was silent, watching her. If Aquitaine were hers and she was the only one to whom Richard would give it, and she was his prisoner, he it was who would have control of that land.

She was aware of his eyes upon her and she thought: Once it is mine I will bestow it on Richard again as I did before. Aquitaine is for Richard. He belongs there as he never did to England. He is my son and Aquitaine shall be for him.

‘This will be the way to restore order to Aquitaine,’ she said.

Eleanor had not felt so excited for years. At last her imprisonment was over. She was going to be free, free to hold her own Court, to gather round her the troubadours of the South, to intrigue with her beloved Richard against his father.

THE FATAL JOUST

Henry’s plan had succeeded. Richard, who had refused to hand over Aquitaine to his brother, at once agreed to give it to his mother. This was done.

When Eleanor was making her preparations to depart for Aquitaine she received a shock.

Henry came to her. ‘I see that you are ready to leave,’ he said. ‘That is good for I wish there to be no delay.’

‘In a few days I shall set out. Soon I shall be in Poitiers.’

The King raised his eyebrows. ‘Nay,’ he said, ‘that is not what I intend.’

She stared at him unbelievingly.

He said: ‘You have forgotten one thing. You are my captive. How could I trust you in Aquitaine? What would be the first thing you would do? Plot against me. Do you take me for a fool? You are going back to England. At your castle they will be waiting to receive you.’

‘No!’ she cried.

‘But yes. I am glad you will soon be ready to leave.’

‘You have given me back Aquitaine.’

‘In name only. That will keep the peace.’

‘You … cheat!’

‘Call me rather the guardian of my dominions.’

‘I should have known you never kept a promise.’

‘Well, you had many years to make my acquaintance, so could be expected to know me well.’

‘It is small wonder that your sons all hate you.’

‘You brought them up to that. A bad task well done. Do you think I shall ever forget or forgive you for it? If you think that, you do not know Henry Plantagenet. Moreover, how could I ever sleep easy if I thought of you in Aquitaine plotting against me, stirring my sons to rebellion?’

‘I … hate you,’ she said quietly.

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘You have done that for years but I have managed to survive.’

‘What a liar, what a cheat, a lecher, a breaker of promises; it is small wonder as Heraclius says that God has abandoned you.’

He was suddenly afraid of her. With her loosened hair and her eyes blazing she looked like a witch prophetess.

He turned and left her.

John proudly stepped ashore on Irish soil. His land! Lord of Ireland! King of Ireland! The titles rang in his ears and the feeling of power it brought with it was as intoxicating as any wine.

What did a king do in his own land? He made sure that everyone was aware that they were his subjects. What he wanted of them they must give. A wonderful situation. Lands, women, everything he wanted was his. He kept reminding himself of that. He had chosen his special friends to accompany him, young men who were very like himself. They strutted, they drank too much, they boasted of their conquests of women and they never forgot to give their Prince what he constantly demanded: flattery.

The dress of the Irish amused them and, when dignitaries came to receive him, John roared with laughter at their costumes and his followers immediately joined in his mirth. The Irish were bearded. It was one of their customs. This seemed comical to John and he and his friends tweaked the beards of those who came to greet them in a most insolent manner.

Naturally enough the chieftains were insulted and were not going to endure this.

Hugh de Lacy tried to restrain the irresponsible young men, pointing out to John that the Irish were quarrelsome and warlike people and would not endure such treatment.

‘They will endure whatever treatment I care to impose on them,’ retorted John.

Hugh de Lacy groaned. Why had the King, usually so shrewd, risked the loss of Ireland by sending this stupid arrogant youth?

Worse was to come. John and his band marched through Ireland. Whenever they fancied anything, they took it. They plundered the towns, they coerced the women and if these were unwilling they were raped.

It was hardly likely that the Irish would quietly allow such desecration of their land. As John proceeded through the country he was met by armies, and as he was more proficient in plundering defenceless towns than in fighting, he was very soon in desperate straits.

After five months he was so impoverished and his forces so depleted that he had no alternative but to return to England.

He came to his father who received him with affection and great consternation when he heard how badly everything had gone in Ireland.

‘How could such disaster have befallen you?’ he wanted to know.

‘The answer, Father,’ replied John, ‘is the traitor Hugh de Lacy. He has stirred up resentment against us all over Ireland. You know he plans to be Lord of Ireland. He wants to be the King.’

Henry studied his son closely. There were signs of dissipation on his face, young as he was. He had heard stories of the women he had seduced. A young man, it was true, must follow his natural instincts, and Henry was the last who could blame anyone for being fond of women. He himself had fathered two illegitimate children before he was eighteen.

Little doubts came in his mind but he refused to see them. He could not endure to have another son whom he could not trust. There must be one in the brood who would love him and serve him well.

He thought of the picture of the eaglets and the youngest of them waiting to peck out the old eagle’s eyes. Why had he caused that picture to be painted? If he believed in John why should he have said that the youngest of them was standing aside waiting to peck out his eyes?

What had really happened in Ireland? Was John power-drunk? Had he behaved in such a manner that the Irish had turned against him?

Shrewd Henry who had come so far because he had understood the ways of men, said: Discover. Ask those whom you can trust. Know this son of yours.

But he was a tired old man, longing for affection. It could not be possible that all his sons would betray him. There must be one who loved him; and who could it be but John?

There was news from Ireland.

Hugh de Lacy had been murdered.

‘A just reward,’ said John, ‘for his treachery to his king.’