‘I should hold it.’
Richard shook his head. ‘She is the Duchess and your son Richard has been proclaimed Duke.’
‘It is a vain title. Aquitaine is mine.’
‘You received the title when you married the Duchess but the people would never accept you. They have ever been loyal to the Queen and regard her as their true ruler. If you rid yourself of the Queen you will rid yourself of Aquitaine.’
‘By God’s eyes, Richard, you would keep me tied to a woman I hate.’
‘I could do nothing, my lord, if you wished it otherwise. My duty is to remind you of what this divorce would mean. She is a great heiress. Aquitaine would rise against you. What of Normandy?’
‘My sons have sworn not to take arms against me.’
‘My lord, we know what these oaths mean in cases of emergency.’
‘A curse on you, Richard. You disquiet me. I had made up my mind. But, my good friend, I know you say what you say out of love and loyalty to me.’
‘Then I have achieved my purpose.’
‘So you believe that there is no way of getting a divorce without strife that could well continue for the rest of my life?’
‘I do believe that, my lord.’
‘But I want to marry again.’
‘My lord, could you not content yourself with a mistress? You have long made this compromise.’
‘It is not so easy now. Tell me truthfully, Richard, have you heard rumours?’
‘I have, my lord.’
‘Then it has been spoken of.’
‘With discretion and only in certain quarters. We must see that it is not generally known.’
‘But what can I do, Richard?’
‘The lady has been removed from Court. She has been travelling to the North for her education. When she returns it would be well if you did not see her again.’
‘That is impossible.’
‘She should be married without delay.’
The King hit his left hand with his right clenched fist. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I will never agree to it.’
‘If she were not the daughter of the King of France …’
‘It is because she is, that I could marry her.’
‘The affianced bride of your son!’
‘Such betrothals often come to naught.’
‘’Tis so. It is the matter of the divorce that must give us cause for thought. My lord, you must consider whether you will have marriage and the loss of your dominions, or keep your hold on them and remain married to the Queen.’
‘The Cardinal hints that a divorce would be possible.’
‘Indeed so, my lord. Would not his master like to see your power curtailed?’
‘You are determined to frustrate me.’
‘I am determined to serve you with my whole heart and strength and if I offend you in doing that, so be it.’
The King slipped his arm through that of Richard de Luci.
‘My good friend,’ he said, ‘I see that I must go away and brood on this matter.’
He could not sleep; he rode through the forest, he returned his sweating horse to his grooms; he lay on his bed and stared into the future.
He pondered; he made up his mind and changed it.
And all the time one thought kept hammering in his brain: Alice the one he loved and the loss of Aquitaine. Alice and conflict. And to keep Eleanor, the Queen he hated, or to lose his grip on his empire.
He thought often of his great-grandfather the Conqueror and it seemed to him that the man visited him in his dreams. He saw the scorn and contempt on that stern face. For William the Conqueror there would have been no problem. He would never have been able to contemplate a woman’s being more important than power. In the same dreams he saw his grandfather Henry I. There was a man whose needs of women had been as great – if not greater – than those of his grandson. He too gravely shook his head. It was unthinkable that their descendant should contemplate possible disaster to the empire they had left him for the sake of ridding himself of one woman and taking another as his wife.
It was a conflict between love and power. And Henry Plantagenet was a king and descended from William the Conqueror. There was really no need to consider the matter. He knew what he would have to do.
In the Bower at Woodstock Alice’s time grew near.
Rosamund tended her with care and grew quite fond of the girl. They were alike in a way which was perhaps the reason why they had both attracted the King.
Rosamund would sit by the Princess’s bed while she stitched at her needlework and Alice would ask her about the trials of childbirth.
They would pray for an easy labour, said Rosamund. She doubted there would be one. The girl was young and perhaps not yet ready for childbirth. Rosamund trembled, thinking of the King’s wrath if anything should go amiss with Alice.
She dedicated herself to caring for the girl. It was the last service she would perform for him. She had definitely made up her mind that as soon as Alice’s child was born and the girl was recovered she would go into her convent. She had chosen the one at Godstow and had already made gifts to it; and she knew that when the time came she would be welcomed.
In the meantime there was Alice.
The girl was beautiful and she believed the King to be all-powerful. She was innocent in a way and did not seem to guess at the King’s previous relationship with Rosamund. Perhaps that made it easier.
Alice talked of the King for even she was aware that Rosamund would know he was the father of the child.
He was a great good man, she told Rosamund, who was married to a wicked woman. The Queen was an advocate of the devil and the King was going to put her from him and marry Alice.
‘My dear,’ said Rosamund, ‘are you not betrothed to Prince Richard?’
‘I was, but it has no meaning now. The King says so and the King knows.’
So young Alice thought that she would soon be Queen of England. Once he had promised her the same. He had long hated the Queen. How often he had discussed getting rid of her! Divorce would not be difficult, he had said, for there were certain to be blood ties. He had then promised to make Rosamund his Queen.
And now it was Alice and here was Alice about to bear his child tended by her, Rosamund, the discarded mistress.
The months passed. They walked in the gardens; they talked; they stitched baby’s clothes and Rosamund brought out those which her own children had worn – half-brothers to this little one who was about to be born. Alice’s child should wear them. Why not, since there would be a strong tie between them?
‘The King is good to all his children,’ said Rosamund.
‘Is it not wicked of his sons to turn against him?’ cried Alice. ‘They have been ruined by their mother. But soon she will be put away from him. She has not long to bear the title of Queen of England.’
Rosamund was older and wiser; she had heard promises which had now been forgotten. There was no point in hinting to Alice that the King might not find it easy to gain his divorce.
In due course Alice was brought to bed and delivered of a girl-child who died a few hours after its birth.
Alice was heartbroken. When the King came to visit her he pretended to be also, but he could not help thinking to himself that perhaps it was all for the best.
‘When you are recovered, my love,’ he said, ‘you must return to the Court. And if you should appear a little wan, we will say that it was an exhausting journey to the North and the climate up there did not agree with you.’
Rosamund said quietly: ‘I have a mind to go into a convent.’
He answered: ‘I fancy it has been your wish for some time.’
‘I feel the need for solitude and meditation. I think the time has come for me to seek forgiveness of my sins.’