‘How did you find Philip? More amenable than usual, I’ll warrant,’ she said, a glint in her eyes and an excitement gripping her to feel herself once more at the centre of affairs. A life of seclusion for her! How would she endure it!

She was amused by Philip’s predicament. What a complex creature he was; and the fact that he was the son of her first husband had always made her interested in him. She would have enjoyed having him for a son; and she often wondered how a poor monk like Louis had managed to beget him. Philip was clever; in fact she wondered whether there was any man alive to compare with him in mental agility. He was ambitious but preferred to make his conquests through diplomacy and clever juggling than through fighting, which was the best way in the end if the desired result could be achieved. That had been her second husband’s virtue. Henry II had had a reputation as a great general and yet if he could avoid battle he did so. This she had always seen as the secret of his successes in his early days. Philip resembled him in that way. Richard – straightforward, seeing but one side to every question – had believed that war was the decisive weapon. It often was, and when conducted by the greatest soldier in the world, invariably successful, but it was the wily ones like Henry II and Philip who often achieved their ends at least cost.

It was strange that Philip, who had once so passionately loved Richard, should now be in love with a woman. But in love he must be to allow a relationship to affect him politically.

His first wife Isabella of Hainault had died some years before, leaving him a son, Louis. Three years after her death he had married Ingeburga, a princess of Denmark. As soon as the ceremony had taken place he took a violent dislike to her and refused to live with her. As was the custom in such cases with kings he at once trumped up a case of consanguinity which would render the marriage null and this was immediately confirmed by a French court which did not wish to displease the King.

It was not always easy, though, to rid oneself of a royal princess, for her family rallied to her and popes who were often amenable when one side was important and the other less so liked to be a little more careful when dealing with royalty on either side. Thus Pope Celestine quashed the decision of the French court and forbade Philip to marry again. Two princesses refused the honour of becoming Queen of France, fearing that they might not please Philip and their fate be like that of Ingeburga; but then he met Agnes of Meran and her beauty and grace charmed him to such an extent that he was determined, in spite of the Pope, to marry her. This he did. Celestine might have bowed to a fait accompli but his successor Innocent III was of sterner morals and, moreover, determined to exercise his power. He wrote to Philip to tell him that his conduct had brought upon him the wrath of God and the thunder of the Church and if Philip continued to live with Agnes he would impose the Interdict on him which meant that there would be no religious ceremonies and festivals in France.

Philip was furious and declared that he would do without the Pope. He had recently been fighting in the Holy Land, he said, and he noticed that the Saracens such as the great Saladin seemed to get along very well without the blessing of Rome.

This was the state of affairs at the French Court and Eleanor knew that although Philip might show bravado outwardly, he would inwardly suffer a few qualms – if not exactly on religious grounds; he would know that to go into battle without the Church on his side would have its effect on his followers.

So now Eleanor was smiling slyly, realising that Philip would be far more ready to come to a conference with John with the Interdict threatening him than he would otherwise.

‘Philip was ready to be reasonable,’ John told her.

‘I’ll warrant he was. He has his affair with the Pope to occupy him at this time.’

‘We talked,’ said John, ‘and we have come to agreement. He has accepted me as the heir of all that Richard held in France.’

‘Then we should rejoice,’ said Eleanor. ‘But doubtless you have had to make concessions.’

‘I have had to give up the Vexin.’

‘A pity, but naturally he would want something.’

‘And I have agreed to pay him twenty thousand marks.’

Eleanor grimaced, but a cunning look had come into John’s eyes. Agreeing to pay was not actually paying and he had little intention of keeping that side of the bargain. Philip might well be prepared for that, for he would have long ago summed up the man with whom he was dealing.

‘And,’ went on John, ‘here is something that will please you: my niece, your granddaughter Blanche, is to be betrothed to young Louis.’

Eleanor smiled and nodded. ‘So our little Blanche will be the future Queen of France.’

‘I knew that would please you. But the best is to come. Philip recognises that I am Arthur’s overlord.’

‘Ah,’ said the Queen. ‘Then you have indeed done well.’

‘There are some who think I have given away too much and they are nicknaming me John Softsword. By God’s teeth, if I were to catch those who mocked me in that way I’d flay them alive.’

‘Words are of no great importance, and in getting Philip to agree that Arthur must do homage to you you have done very well. Blanche should be brought from Castile before Philip has the chance to change his mind.’

‘I’ll send for her.’

‘Nay,’ said the Queen. ‘That’s not good enough. I shall go to Castile and bring her myself.’

‘You … you are capable of the journey?’

‘The day I am not capable of doing what I know must be done to hold the throne for my son, I shall be ready to be laid in my tomb. That day is not yet. I shall prepare for the journey at once.’ Her eyes shone with pleasure. ‘I shall be happy indeed to see your sister Eleanor. It is so rarely that I see my children, and then briefly.’

‘The journey will be arduous.’

‘My son, my life has been made up of arduous journeys.’

Eleanor was as good as her word. She made immediate preparations to leave for Castile and soon she was on her way.


John was pleased with himself. He knew that people had compared him with his brother Richard and whispered that he lacked his skill to rule. They should see. Hadn’t he already made a treaty with the King of France? Hadn’t he got an admission from him that he was Arthur’s overlord?

Now was the time for enjoyment and what better than the chase?

He gathered together his intimate friends – young men daring like himself, who applauded everything he did and made him feel that he was indeed the King. It was good to ride out in new forests and, after Eleanor had left, he spent days in hunting on his way north to Normandy. Like his ancestors, he loved the chase and to be in at the kill and to see a panting animal at bay gave him a pleasure so intense that it could only be rivalled by seeing human beings in a similar state of terror.

He was riding ahead with a party in the forests between La Marche and the Angoumois when he countered a party coming in the opposite direction. At their head was a very young girl. She could not have been more than thirteen years old, but as he looked at her something happened to John which had never happened before. That she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen occurred to him immediately as it must to everyone else; but she had more than beauty. She was dainty, imperious, mischievous … all in the most beguiling manner, and he had an intense desire to seize her and carry her off.

He called a halt and the riders came up to him.

‘Tell me,’ he cried, ‘where do you come from and who are you?’

The young man who was riding beside the fascinating young girl replied: ‘I am Hugh de Lusignan, son of the Count of La Marche, and I might well ask what you are doing in my father’s territory?’

‘My good fellow,’ said John, angry lights leaping into his eyes, ‘I tell you this: you may be the son of the Count of La Marche and call this land yours. I am the Duke of Aquitaine under whom you hold this land. It would be well for you to remember it.’

The young man leaped from his horse and bowed low to John, whose good temper was restored.

‘Come, come,’ he said, ‘’twas a mistake easy made. Who is this lady whom you escort?’

‘She is my betrothed, my lord. Isabella, daughter of the Count of Angoulême, who is being brought up in my brother’s household.’

‘Charming,’ said John. ‘Charming, charming. The son of the Count of La Marche, you say. Well, a merry day to you.’

With that he nodded and rode on. His friends were astonished. They had seen the familiar look in his eyes as he had surveyed the girl and had expected him to take some action. It would not have surprised them if they had beaten off her protectors and abducted her.

He was thoughtful – unusually so – and it was clear that he was thinking of the young girl.

When one of them spoke to him, he did not answer. Instead he murmured: ‘The Count of La Marche. How many years think you before that marriage takes place?’

‘The girl is very young, my lord. ’Twould have to be two years at least.’

‘If it ever does take place,’ said John with a smile.

He couldn’t get her out of his mind. He dreamed of her. It was ridiculous, for she was only a child. She had looked at him in an odd way, too. There was nothing childish about that. Perhaps she was overawed, for she would know he was not only her father’s suzerain but King of England.

Why couldn’t he stop thinking of her? He could see her face clearly – that thick curling hair about the oval contours and the expression in those wonderful eyes that was half innocence, half knowledge. What an intriguing girl.

His instinct was to carry her off and seduce her without delay. Rape if necessary. Would it have been necessary?

But the daughter of the Count of Angoulême, the betrothed of the son of the Count of La Marche, could not be treated like a peasant. The Lusignans were a powerful family. They could raise the whole of Aquitaine against him, because the people didn’t want him, and he knew it. They accepted his mother joyfully because she was one of them. Hadn’t she been brought up there as the heiress of Aquitaine? But they had hated her husband and her sons. Richard had had to fight incessantly to hold that rebellious land. Much as he deplored the fact that he had not seized the girl, John knew very well that he had been wise not to.

He kept thinking about her. No woman could satisfy him now. Always he would see the lovely haunting face of the fairylike child in the forest.


He could not forget Isabella of Angoulême and it occurred to him that if he had not already a wife he might have made a match with Isabella. There was some grounds for it. After all, the Count of Angoulême would surely be pleased to see his daughter Queen of England; and such an alliance would no doubt change the antagonism of Aquitaine towards him. Of course Isabella was already affianced to one of the Lusignans and the Lusignans were a great fighting family. They wouldn’t be pleased, but one cannot please everybody all the time.

The more he thought of Isabella the more he was determined to marry her, for he realised that he could not abduct her and carry her away and keep her with him while she pleased him as though she were a girl with no important family; and he would never really enjoy sexual encounters with other women until he had satisfied his desire for this one.

There was only one way of getting Isabella and that was through marriage.

True, he had been married for the last ten years, since just before Richard’s coronation he had taken Hadwisa of Gloucester as his bride in order to possess himself of her rich lands. That he had done to his satisfaction and they had made him a wealthy man. It was long since he had seen Hadwisa; she loathed him and that had been the only attraction he had found in her, and he had had a certain amount of pleasure in inflicting his attentions on her only for that reason. Had she wanted him he would never have gone to her. But as she grew older and knew him better she steeled herself against her revulsion and that did not please him. She, however, achieved her wish, for he had rarely seen her during the last five years.

But a king must consider his successors. He did not want to be like Richard and leave no one to follow him. He wanted a son and delicious little Isabella should provide him – once he had rid himself of Hadwisa.