He turned to John now.

‘John, my beloved son, I have lost your brothers. You must be a comfort to me now.’

‘I will, Father,’ promised John. ‘I will serve you with my life.’

It was comforting to remind himself that he had John.

In her castle fortress Eleanor mourned her son.

Her Geoffrey, she had called him in contrast with that other of the same name whom Henry had brought into the nursery – his bastard Geoffrey.

Such a bright boy her Geoffrey had been, so beautiful, though always overshadowed by his brother Henry because Henry had been more handsome. But Geoffrey was the cleverer of those two. Geoffrey had been the schemer, the plotter, the one who charmed while he plotted to do mischief.

Neither of those sons would ever have ruled a kingdom as their father did, but she had loved them as she did all her children. If she could not be a faithful wife she could be an affectionate mother.

Now she thought of Geoffrey as he had been when she had known him. He had been a boy then and she hated Henry afresh who had kept her all these years shut away from her children.

Her beloved Richard was safer, for Geoffrey had been no friend to him. It might be that Richard’s position was more secure since the death of his brother.

So while she mourned Geoffrey she thought of Richard. He was the son on whom all her hopes were fixed. Henry knew this. Was this one of the reasons why he was doing his best – as she suspected – to displace Richard and set John up in his place?

That should never be.

Oh, God, she cried, is there no end to the strife in this family?

The King now doted more than ever on John, and John played up to the situation with all the guile of which he was capable. It amused him that he who had been born John Lackland should now be in sight of possessing great dominions. All he had to do was delude his poor old father into thinking that he was a good and obedient son; he could do that easily enough and his nature was such that he enjoyed the deception.

The King liked to walk with him or ride with him and to initiate him, as he said, into the duties of kingship. Henry behaved as though there would be no question of his having the crown in due course. If he mentioned Richard it was to dismiss him as though he were of no importance, the younger son instead of the elder.

‘I could never really love your brother Richard,’ said Henry one day. ‘He hated me from the days of his childhood. His mother did that. I thank God, John, that you were too young to be influenced by her.’

‘I never would have been,’ replied John unctuously. ‘I should have seen the truth.’

‘Would you, my son? I sometimes think your brothers didn’t. They all gave me trouble.’

‘I never shall,’ declared John.

‘Thank God that one of my sons gives me some affection.’

‘I will make up to you, Father, for what you have suffered.’

Christmas was approaching and the King decided to spend it at Guildford castle. In the Norman fortress the King commanded that there should be revelry, for he wished all to know that his beloved son John was high in his favour. John was beside his father for the two days they spent there and it was seen that the King took great pleasure in his company. They would be seen walking round the castle wall deep in conversation, the King talking earnestly, John eagerly listening as though determined not to miss any of those words of wisdom.

John was delighted when early in the new year a bull arrived from Pope Urban in which was set out his approval of Henry’s desire to make his son John King of Ireland. The royal party travelled to Westminster to receive Cardinal Octavian who was bringing a crown of gold and peacock feathers with which the Cardinal would crown young John.

But once again John’s pretensions did not come to fruition for before the coronation could take place there was disquieting news from France. Philip was very different from Louis. He was not easily deceived. If Henry wanted to keep the peace he said the two Kings must meet for there were certain matters which Philip must discuss with Henry.

Henry knew of course that one of these must concern Alice. That he had kept her so long was something of a miracle. Who else but Henry Plantagenet could have done that?

It could not last though.

He would have to postpone John’s coronation and sail for France.

John was a little put out by the deferment. His inclination was to scream his disapproval and lie on the floor and kick everything near him. But he knew that he must show no displays of temper; and the game of deluding his father into thinking he was the good and dutiful son was so intriguing at the moment that he managed to get the better of his rage.

He told himself that if he could go on winning his father’s favour, if he could supplant Richard, if he could become King of England, he could have as many rages as he liked. In the meantime he had to remember what was at stake.

So with docility and a show of affection he set sail with his father for France.

A meeting was fixed when the differences between the two Kings would be discussed and Philip hoped settled so satisfactorily that there would be no need of a conflict between them.

Before the confrontation could take place there was news from Brittany. Constance, the wife of Geoffrey, who had been pregnant at the time of her husband’s death, had given birth to a child. This time it was a son.

Henry was delighted. A grandson! His sons – with the exception of John – had failed him and now that he was looking for family affection might it not come to him through the younger generation?

He wrote congratulations to Constance of Brittany and he was thinking: I shall have to find another husband for her ere long. As soon as she had recovered from the birth he would do so.

He would regard it, he wrote, as a compliment to himself if his grandson received the name of Henry.

Alas, it seemed that everyone was determined to flout him. Even the people of Brittany.

Constance wrote that the bells had been ringing throughout Brittany to herald the birth of a boy. The people would not hear of his being christened anything but Arthur. They wished him to be called after the great King who was the deliverer of his people.

That seemed ominous to Henry, and he was annoyed that his wishes had been disregarded. Still, it was a matter which, in view of his present precarious position, he must ignore.

So Geoffrey’s son was christened Arthur as his future subjects wished him to be.

PHILIP AND RICHARD

Henry was feeling ill. He had an uncomfortable and humiliating internal disease. Long hours in the saddle tired him. It was irksome. Always before he had had ten times the energy of other men but he was not young any more. He was fifty-four years of age. It was true Eleanor was twelve years older, but she seemed indestructible and during the years of captivity she had led a peaceful life occupied only with keeping herself young and beautiful and dabbling in intrigue whenever it was possible. Whereas he had fought a perpetual fight to keep his dominions intact, to keep Alice with him, to keep at bay the young sly King of France. It had been so much easier when Louis had been alive. Gentle Louis had been so different from his shrewd young son. Who would have thought that the spoilt boy would have turned into a considerable ruler? And he had to face him now.