“One of your own kind,” I said.

“We met on the road. He asked us where our destination was and we told him England. He then said that we could spend a night or two at his castle. I liked the man on sight. Do you know, dear Mother, I trusted him. The others did not. They were very suspicious. But then they were suspicious of everyone.”

“And rightly so.”

“Yes, indeed, rightly so. But there was a feeling between myself and Roger. I knew he would not betray us.”

“Because of his handsome looks?”

“Oh far more than that. There was a rapport between us. He gave us a great welcome at his castle. I can see it now ... the smell of roasting venison, the sweet sound of music, the warmth of the great hall. He had a good voice and we sang together; we played a game of chess. I checkmated him. I think he may have allowed me to.

“He said to me after the game, ‘You are no ordinary merchant. I think you are a great nobleman.’ I had a feeling that he knew who I was, and I asked him if this were so. I said to him bluntly: ‘Do you know who I am?’ And he answered, ‘I think I do. You are the great Coeur de Lion. There could not be another who looks as noble as you, and I have heard that the King of England is the most noble-looking man on Earth.’ Such was the understanding between us that I did not deny it.

“He looked worried. He said, ‘You are in danger. There are those here who would make you prisoner. There is an order throughout the land that any who suspect a traveling merchant may be the King must immediately get a message to Frederick of Betsau.’ He was more afraid for me than I was for myself, and I found that touching.”

He paused, looking straight ahead, smiling tenderly.

Then he went on: “He said, ‘You must leave here at once. You are unsafe. In a few hours they will be here to take you.’ ‘You have not told them I am here?’ I asked. He fell on his knees and, taking my hand, kissed it. He said, ‘I was to set the trap. I was to bring you here. I was to have you here in bed when they arrived to take you. There is little time to lose. Go from here. But do not travel with your companions. You must have just one to accompany you.’ ‘You have deceived your master,’ I said. He nodded. ‘Why so?’ I asked. He said, ‘Because, my lord, I love you.’ I knew he spoke the truth.

“I went back to my friends. I told them what had happened. They said they knew that Roger was laying a trap for us, but I replied that he had opened the trapdoor and we should all be the better for having walked into it. So we rode away and I traveled with only one page to look after me.”

“When I think of the dangers through which you have passed, I tremble,” I said.

“Life is all danger. Compared with what we suffered in the Holy Land, this seems like a small adventure.”

“And it was when you were with your page that you were taken?”

“Yes. Perhaps we were careless. He used to go into the town to buy food. I would be outside in the country. I gave him jewels to sell. We had to have food somehow. It was inevitable, I suppose, that sooner or later someone would ask what a young page was doing with such gems. What we think of as of little value seems very grand to some people. My page was taken and threatened with torture. Poor lad, he was a good boy, but he did not want to lose his eyes or have his tongue cut out, so he told them where I was. We were staying the night at the cottage of a workman and his wife. They were glad to have us for a little recompense. When I heard the horsemen approaching, I went into the kitchen and tried to look like a yokel watching the meat on the spit.”

I laughed at the thought. “You could storm the walls of Acre with more success than you could pretend to be a yokel watching meat on a spit.”

“There were two guards and a captain. They burst into the kitchen. The captain said, ‘You are the King of England and I have come to arrest you.’ ‘On whose orders?’ I asked. He replied, ‘On those of my master, Duke Leopold of Austria.’ I knew I could expect little mercy then. Leopold of Austria, my great enemy!”

“Oh Richard,” I said, “we should never make enemies. They have a habit of turning up at the most awkward moments.”

“‘I demand you give me your sword,’ said the captain. I replied, ‘I will not give my sword to you, Captain. Your master will have to come to take it.’ He was nonplussed. I doubt he had ever arrested a king before. He set one of his men to guard me while he went off, and after a while he returned with Leopold, who was smiling smugly. He said, ‘This is a little different from the walls of Acre, eh?’ I replied that there was naturally a difference, but he was arrogant then and I saw no change in him now. ‘But the positions are reversed,’ he said. ‘You are my prisoner. There are men all over Europe who will sing my praises and rejoice when I have you under lock and key.’ ‘Those who are afraid of me, you mean,’ I said. ‘Weak men who yearn for the glory they have not the courage to win.’”

“You were in his power. Was it wise to speak to him thus?”

“I said what I meant, and you may rest assured he was discomfited.”

“But you were his prisoner ... and all that time. You must never put yourself in danger again.”

“I am home now. There is much to do here. It is my great pleasure to be with you and to know that you are well.”

“Now that you are back,” I said, “what of Berengaria?”

“She is happy enough where she is.”

“She would be happier with you. Richard she must come to England. She cannot stay so far away. She must be brought here, and when she comes you must live together as man and wife. There must be a child. Think of John and Arthur. His mother, Constance, is a very ambitious woman. It would be disastrous if there was war.”

“I intend to live a long time yet.”

“Long enough to get an heir and see him climb to manhood. But Richard, Berengaria must return.”

“Yes,” he said, “you are right.”

But I knew he would shelve the matter. He did not want a wife.

Our tour was successful. The people clearly rejoiced in such a handsome King. What a difference appearances made! And with his reputation they were proud of him.

I thought: We must keep it so.

After leaving Canterbury we came to St. Albans, and from there we went to Winchester where Richard was crowned again. That was a splendid ceremony.

There were certain castles which had been passed over to John because people believed that Richard was never coming back. These had to be retrieved. Those who had rallied to John were now required to come forth and beg forgiveness of Richard. He forgave them freely. Richard had never been really vindictive; he had been away for a long time, and they had thought him dead, he reasoned—well, they had given their allegiance to his brother because of this. If they gave it back to him, they would be forgiven for having strayed. It was understandable.

Then to Nottingham to receive more penitents.

Having traveled through England, he must now visit Normandy, where there had been a great deal of unrest. John was in France, and it would be as well to see him and let him know that, now his brother was back, there must be no more dallying with treason.

I was to be with him. I wanted to see the meeting between him and John. I greatly feared strife in the family.

I traveled down to Portsmouth with him, but although it was April the weather was too rough for a ship to sail, and we had to wait nearly three weeks before setting out.

Then to Caen first, where we planned our journey.

It was amazing and gratifying to see how those who had been ready to defect to John were only too happy to come back to Richard now they saw him. It might have been that John was getting such a terrible reputation that they had all been afraid to defy him. He was already showing himself to be cruel and sadistic, and naturally if he were about to be King they did not want to upset him.

John must now know that he was beaten. He came secretly to my apartments, for he wanted to see me alone, he said.

As soon as we came face to face, he fell on his knees and buried his face in my skirts.

I said to him coolly: “You thought it wise to come to me.”

“I have been a fool, dear Mother. Please understand. I meant no ill. But the country needed a king. I have been a wicked brother to Richard. You cannot blame me more than I blame myself.”

I said: “Get up. At least you admit your fault. Your brother Richard is the noblest of men. You should be proud to be his brother.”

“I am. I am.”

“And serve him with your life.”

“I will. I will.”

I was not so foolish as to believe him. He was repentant now because he was afraid of Richard, of course; and when the next opportunity to betray his brother came, he would seize it with both hands.

“I do not know what I must do to show my repentance,” he went on. “Perhaps I should run my sword through my heart.”

I fancied he was looking covertly at me to see what effect this statement had. I was scornful but I was thinking: There must be a reconciliation ... a public one. But we shall have to watch Master John. He is bound to be up to mischief sooner or later.

I said: “Get up off your knees and talk sense. As for taking your life, that is the coward’s way. I will not have any son of mine a coward.”

“But I have sinned. I should be punished. Richard hates me. You must hate me.”

“I think Richard does not respect you enough to hate you,” I said. “He looks upon you as his feckless young brother.”

John smirked. I think that was the impression he was trying to give.

“Mother,” he said. “Dearest Mother, please tell me what I must do.”

“Go now. I will speak to your brother. It may be that he will find it in his heart to forgive you. If he does, you will be fortunate. It would be something for you to remember if ever you felt inclined to play the traitor again.”

“I swear to God ...”

“I should not if I were you. Those who break their vows to men are treacherous, those who break them to God much worse.”

He went away and I thought a great deal about him. I had never liked him. I remembered always that it was at the time of his birth that I discovered I no longer loved Henry, and I had resented the fact that I was pregnant with his child. Perhaps I had been at fault. I had sent him to Fontevrault. I had given all my love to the other children—particularly Richard—and there had been none to spare for John.

Now I saw him clearly—ambitious, avaricious, self-seeking, sensual as his father was; but there was something sadistic about John which had never been there in Henry. We should have to be careful of John. Naturally I did not believe in his repentance but I should have to pretend to. We had to break John’s friendship with the King of France. We could not have brother against brother.

I told Richard my feelings in the matter.

“He is coming to ask your forgiveness. You must give it to him, Richard.”

“Willingly.”

“No, not too willingly, but for the sake of expediency. Never forget that, if the opportunity arose, he would betray you. But let it be thought publicly that you are good friends.”

I was present at the reconciliation scene. John went to his brother and threw himself at his feet. He would have given quite a good performance but he was always inclined to overact.

He seized Richard’s legs and gazed up at his brother.

“I deserve to be punished,” he said. “Punish me, Richard. Devils possessed me. How could I behave so to a brother I hold in such great honor ... as does the whole world. I am so proud of you, Richard. I would I could be more like you.”

“It was evil counselors, not devils,” said Richard. “You are young, and the young fall easily into the scheming hands of unscrupulous men. Come. Do not grovel there. Stand up.”

John did, and Richard kissed him.

There was peace between the brothers.

There was still no mention of Berengaria.

I brought up the matter again. “You are thirty-six years old, Richard. It is time you had a son.”

“I have many years left to me.”

“That is what I pray for. But you should have children by now. If you do not live with your wife how can you get legitimate sons?”

“She shall come here.”

“When?”

“When I have settled Normandy. There is much to do here, Mother.”

Later he said he thought we should send for Arthur.

“Why?” I asked.