The Revolt of the Eaglets

Chapter X THE KING’S STRATEGY

Alice was back in Westminster; Richard was in Aquitaine; and she trusted the King to keep her safe with him.

As for Henry he found it very pleasant to be in England. There he could visit Alice frequently and see more of his son John. The desire to be a good father, and to have the affection of his children was becoming an obsession with him. He had lost almost all hopes of the elder ones but there were however, the two younger members of his family – Joanna and John – and he was trying hard to win from them the love and regard which the others had denied him.

He could blame their mother and he did. Let her fret out her days in the prison of his choosing; she had shown that she only had to appear to make trouble. He was certain that the importuning of Louis for the marriage of Alice and Richard was Eleanor’s work. He had been shaken as he rarely had ever been when he discovered that she knew of the relationship between him and Alice. Could it be that she had told Louis the truth? No, not that. He would have been horrified. That would offend his pious soul and he would never keep quiet about it. But she had prodded him in some way, he was sure.

The matter occupied him more than any other, for he made himself believe that his sons would be faithful to their promises. Richard was doing well in Aquitaine and was certainly a great fighter. Henry was too pleasure-loving and extravagant and Geoffrey took after him: But Marguerite was pregnant and if she gave him a grandson he would be satisfied with her.

The great problem was how to keep Alice.

It was a pity that she was growing up. She was not seventeen yet but of course they would say she should be married at that age. Richard was a laggard; he had shown no great desire for marriage, thank God.

If Alice were any but Louis’s daughter … oh, but he had to admit that had given a piquancy to the affair. He liked to think he was making love to the daughter of that old monk. She would make a worthy bride for him too if ever it was possible for them to marry.

While he was brooding on this a letter arrived from the Pope. He shut himself alone in his bedchamber and with some trepidation opened it. Glancing hastily through it he saw that Alice was the subject of it and his heart sank.

The Pope wrote that his dearest son in Christ, Louis illustrious King of the French, was complaining because his daughter, who had long ago been sent to England that she might be brought up in the country of her betrothed, had neither been married nor returned to her father. The King of France was insisting that either one of these courses must be adopted.

Henry threw the letter aside and stared ahead of him.

What could he do? If it were not for Eleanor he could marry her. As it was, what was the alternative?

He stood up and clenched his fist.

‘By the eyes, teeth and mouth of God,’ he cried, ‘I’ll not give up Alice.’

He went to see his children. He had news for them both.

He sat down on the window-seat and as they leaned against him he put an arm about them both; he could not help thinking what a charming picture they must make and he was resentful against Eleanor who had deprived him of the love his older children owed him. He was not a bad father. His illegitimate children were devoted to him. It was only Eleanor’s brood who were against him. But not these younger ones. They were going to be loyal and loving. They were going to make up to him for what he had lacked with the others.

John was naturally his favourite because he was a boy. The others were going to realise how much happier they would have been if they had loved him. They were going to see what he would do for a loving son. John might not be the King of England, Duke of Normandy or Aquitaine, but he should have the richest lands his father could give him. Never again was John to be known as John Lackland.

‘Now, Joanna, my daughter, what say you to this? How would you like to be a queen?’

Eleven-year-old Joanna opened her eyes wide. ‘A queen, my lord. Not a Queen of England?’

‘Nay, my love. How could you be that? Marguerite will be the Queen. If you would be one, you must have a husband to give you your crown. That is why I have chosen a husband for you. You are to be the Queen of Sicily, for the King of that country is asking your hand in marriage.’

‘I shall have to go away,’ said Joanna.

‘Of a truth you must go to your husband’s country and there be married. You will be a grand lady and that is what I wish you to be.’

She was a little puzzled and looked at John to see what his reactions were.

‘What of me?’ he asked. He was a year younger than his sister but he knew that as a boy he was of greater importance.

‘Your time will come, my son, and before long I doubt not. But you will not leave us. Your bride will come to you for brides it is who must go to their husbands.’

‘When is Alice going to her husband, Father?’ asked Joanna.

God’s eyes, he thought, are they talking of it in the nurseries!

‘All in good time, my love.’

‘She is an old lady,’ said John.

‘Well, hardly that, but older than you, shall we say. Now you are going to have a wonderful wedding dress, Joanna. It will be specially embroidered and set with many sparkling gems. You will like that, eh, my love?’

She clasped her hands and turned her eyes to the ceiling. ‘Oh, yes, my lord.’

He kissed her. Poor child, he thought, reconciled by a wedding dress.

He went to see Alice. What if he should be forced to give her up? He couldn’t. When he had found the perfect mistress he intended to keep her.

She was older now, of an age to understand, and he wanted to share the burden with her. He wanted to make her understand how much he cared for her since he would go to so much trouble to keep her.

‘Alice, my love,’ he said, ‘they are plaguing me to give you over to Richard.’

She clung to him. ‘I will not go. I will not! I shall stay with you. You won’t send me away.’

‘Dost think I would ever send you away, sweetheart, if it were possible to keep you?’

‘Then I am safe for it is only if you wish to be rid of me that I shall have to go.’

He stroked her hair. She trusted him. How could he allow her trust to be betrayed?

‘By God’s eyes, teeth and lips, Alice,’ he swore, ‘none shall take you from me.’

Then he took her into a fierce embrace and made urgent love to her.

Then he laughed aloud and whispered: ‘But we shall have to be crafty, Alice my love. We have to delude your father and Richard. Dost doubt I can do this?’

‘I know you can do it.’

‘And the Pope as well, Alice. He is on our track.’

‘We shall defy them all.’

‘Can you do that, Alice, think you?’

‘You can,’ she said. ‘You can do anything you wish.’

That was how a mistress should be – loving, docile and with complete faith.

He would keep Alice. He had nothing to fear. He would outwit the Pope and the Cardinals. They were afraid of him in any case. It was merely a matter of whom they feared most – him or Louis. Louis was a feeble old man and young Philip was a weakling; whereas he was called the lion for his strength.

He would hold her no matter who came against him.

Little Joanna had gone off to marry William of Sicily, taking with her the promised wedding dress which had cost over a hundred pounds. Poor child, she was delighted with the dress. Her father hoped she would be happy and not too homesick. She could travel through France at the head of a brilliant cavalcade to St Gilles where she would be met by the Bishop of Norwich, whom Henry had sent to Sicily some months before to negotiate the marriage. With him would be the dignitaries of Sicily waiting to conduct her to her future husband.

The King took comfort in the fact that William of Sicily was an old man and would therefore be kind to the child and Joanna herself was such a beautiful and engaging creature that he must be pleased with her.

It was no use being saddened by her departure. Her sisters had gone before her at a tender age: Matilda to the Duke of Saxony and Eleanor to the King of Castile.

And so one’s daughters pass from one’s care, and often do much good; but he believed that his elder daughters had been brought up on the same bitter milk as his sons, which was not surprising since they had fed at the breast of the same she-wolf.

No matter. He had his son John and John must love him. He could not be deserted by all his sons. To compensate John for the loss of his sister he bought him two palfreys which he himself chose and it gave him great pleasure to take the boy out to see them.

They had cost fifty-two pounds and were worth it. He told John this for he wanted the boy to grow up with an appreciation of money. Young Henry was extravagant in the extreme and so was Geoffrey. Richard too seemed to have little understanding of the value of money, even though he wanted it for the maintenance of his dominions, not to fritter it away as Henry and Geoffrey did.

His time was spent between John and Alice now. He was getting older. Perhaps he was lonely even though he was always surrounded by men and women. This craving for affection persisted. He supposed it was because his wife hated him and sometimes it seemed his sons only cared for what they could get from him.

Not so Alice. She loved him for himself. She bore no grudge because he had taken her when she was an innocent child; she never upbraided him because he had not procured the promised divorce. She always understood; she always set herself out to please and never to criticise.

He could be sure of Alice. He hoped he could be sure of John.

He was glad that John’s marriage to Alice of Maurienne would not take place now. He had thought that to become Marquis of Italy would have been a fine solution to his problems, for such John would have been if her dower had come to him. He had already found estates for John in England. He had given him the Earldoms of Cornwall and Nottingham and he proposed to make him King of Ireland.

Another idea occurred to him, and he saw a possibility of John becoming the owner of very large properties in Gloucester.

Robert Earl of Gloucester, illegitimate son of Henry I and therefore Henry’s mother’s brother, had been her chief supporter during her claim to the throne and taught Henry himself a great deal that was good for him and had helped to make him the man he was. Henry remembered well his grief when the Earl had died. How strange it was that often the sons of good and faithful men turned out to be traitors.

Thus it was with the Earl’s son, Earl William of Gloucester.

William, who had inherited vast estates from his father, had become involved in the rebellion against the King. When Henry considered this he became very angry indeed. How different he was from his father and considering that there was a blood tie between them the perfidy seemed more unpardonable than ever.

William was now in his power and the King had him brought before him.

Expecting dire punishment William came in trembling, but the King who was considering John’s future had an idea which seemed to him a good one.

‘William,’ he said reproachfully, ‘you have betrayed my trust in you. I wonder what your father would say if he were here and knew that you had played the traitor.’

William was shamed at the mention of his father.

‘I remember him well,’ went on Henry. ‘My mother never had a more faithful friend than her bastard half-brother; and when I was young nor did I. I shall never forget the day I heard of his death. It was as though a part of my life had ceased to be, and now you, his son, stand before me as a traitor.’

‘My lord,’ cried William, ‘what can I do to win your forgiveness?’

The King shook his head. ‘You have robbed me of my trust in you. ’Tis a sad thing when those of the same blood work against each other. Your grandfather was also mine. It is for that reason that I do not throw you into a dungeon. You see, I respect blood ties. Mind you, a king has his duty and he must guard his realm, no matter what conditions are demanded of him. Not only did my son conspire against me, but so did those whom I should have thought I might have trusted. There is, though, a way in which we could heal this wound. You have a young unmarried daughter and I have a son, John.’

William was alert. Could the King really be suggesting a union between Prince John and his daughter?

He had no sons and three daughters, two of whom were married. The youngest, Isabel, was one of John’s age. He was slightly dismayed, for he hoped to have a son and if he did how could he be denied his heritage?

The King went on: ‘Let your daughter become betrothed to my son John and your earldom and land would fall to him through marriage with your daughter.’

‘My daughters who are married …’ began William.

But the King waved his hand. ‘I have considered this. The Crown will compensate them. They shall each be paid one hundred pounds a year.’

‘My lord,’ began William, ‘this is a great opportunity for my daughter and I should be happy for her to grasp it with both hands but if I should have a son …’

The King had thought of that too. He said glibly: ‘Then the lands should be divided between him on the one side and John and your daughter on the other.’

‘Then I am happy,’ replied William. ‘But I have one fear. The blood tie between these children is a strong one. It may be that the marriage will not be possible on grounds of consanguinity.’

‘I will prevail upon the Pope to grant a dispensation. I do not think he will wish to go against my wishes. Let there be a betrothal and if by some ill chance the dispensation should not be given, then I will find a rich and worthy husband for your daughter. What say you to this, William?’

What could William say? He could, after all, be condemned as a traitor.

The King was well pleased. John was now happily settled and provided for. Never more would he be known as John Lackland. The boy would be grateful to his father. Now all his children were settled and provided with partners – except Richard.

It seemed that every way he turned he came back to Alice.

Louis was determined not to allow the matter of his daughter’s marriage to be further shelved. There was some reason for it, he knew. It was a most extraordinary situation and knowing Henry he suspected some perfidy.

The Pope had acted in a somewhat lukewarm manner and he was determined to get satisfaction.

Alexander had no more desire to offend Louis than he had to offend Henry and he knew he must take some decisive steps in this matter. He therefore let it be known that unless the marriage of Richard and Alice took place without delay he would place an interdict on all Henry’s lands not only on the Continent of Europe but in England itself.

Henry fumed but he did not on this occasion fly into one of his uncontrollable rages. There was too much at stake to fritter away his energies so fruitlessly. He had to think of a way to save Alice for himself.

When one was in the wrong it was always a good idea to turn the tables and accuse the one who had been wronged.

He now pleaded to the Pope that Louis had not given up the territories he had promised for Alice’s dowry, implying that it was this default on the part of the French King which was responsible for the delay. Of course, he announced, he would agree to the marriage of Alice and Richard when these matters were settled. In the meantime he proposed to visit Louis himself and perhaps they could arrive at some conclusion.

Before sailing he went to spend a night with Alice.

She was frightened, poor child, because rumours of the conflict between her father and lover had reached her ears. But quickly he soothed her. Did she not trust him to see that nothing came between them?

Dear little Alice, was she not his beloved and had she not been so for a long time now? Hadn’t she learned to trust him? Didn’t she know that with him all things were possible?

Alice did know this. She was confident that all would be well.

So Henry would visit him. Louis was puzzled. He must be on his guard.

He was several years older than Henry but constantly seemed to be at a disadvantage with him. He must be some fourteen years his senior and Henry was forty-four. Louis felt his years sorely. Life had been difficult for him, but it had had some wonderful moments. The early days of his marriage with Eleanor had given him most of these. That was when he had innocently believed that they were going to be happy for the rest of their lives. The birth of his son Philip was another. What a joyous day that had been when he had learned that at last he had a son.

How different his life might have been if he could have followed a career in the church which had been what was originally intended for him; but his elder brother had been killed – a simple accident caused when a pig upset his horse by running in front of it – and overnight he became the heir to the throne. He looked back at that frightened boy with pity, but almost immediately Eleanor had been there.

Poor Eleanor, a proud woman, now a prisoner! Had she remained true to her first husband that would never have been her fate. No matter what Eleanor had done he would never have put her into confinement as Henry had done. Henry was a hard and ruthless man; and now he was coming to see him.

Louis loved his children. Sometimes he thought how happy he might have been if he could have been a simple nobleman with his family living around him. As it was he saw little of them. There were necessarily political marriages for all of them; and now what was all this mystery about Alice? She must be more English than French by now; he had not seen her since she was a child. And there was Marguerite who would one day be Queen of England; and with Alice her sister married to young Henry’s brother, there would be such strong ties between France and England that surely there would be peace.

He was concerned about Marguerite now for her child was due and must be born any moment. He was pleased that she was brought to bed in Paris. He could see her and his grandchild when it arrived, and he could make sure that everything was done for her comfort.

He was fond too of his son-in-law who was so different from his father. There had been rumours lately of young Henry’s preoccupation with those extravagant tournaments which were so fashionable, but all young men loved to amuse themselves. He believed he was a faithful husband and since Marguerite seemed happy with him, he was content.

A messenger arrived to tell him that Marguerite’s child was born and that it was a boy.

He was delighted. He would go to see her. News must be sent to the King of England. This was a further bond between them.

Marguerite’s son was christened William after the most illustrious of his ancestors – the Conqueror.

Alas, the child was puny and after living three days, in spite of every effort to save him, the little boy died.

On arriving in Normandy Henry was met by his two sons Henry and Geoffrey.

He embraced Henry warmly, expressed his regrets over the death of the child, and waited for the appropriate moment to warn him against devoting too much time to pleasure. He was surprised, he told him, that he had not stayed with Richard to help him in his campaign. Henry’s answer to that was that Richard did not care for aid. He liked to be the supreme commander and it was difficult for a king to take orders from a duke, and that duke his younger brother.

‘I trust,’ the King replied, ‘that you are not deeply in debt.’

Henry’s mouth was sullen as he replied: ‘It is necessary for me to live in some state.’

The King had no wish to quarrel with his sons. The desire to be on good terms with them was great, longing as he did for their love and loyalty, but he was too astute not to know that they would turn against him should the opportunity arise.

Well, he had Alice and he was going to keep Alice. No one was going to take her from him.

He instructed Geoffrey on what should be done in Brittany and sent him off to begin operations there, and when Geoffrey had left Richard joined them.

There was a young man with whom he could talk sensibly on the strategy of war. Richard had done well in Aquitaine. But how different they were! Richard was a cold man. Henry had heard stories that he was not above a little debauchery now and then but he never lost sight of the objective. He was not like young Henry who might lose an advantage in battle because he wanted to make sport in a tournament.

They talked long of the difficulties of subduing and governing Aquitaine. ‘They regard me as a stranger,’ said Richard, ‘that is the trouble. They fear me. When I arrive in a town the trouble-makers disperse, but they call me your son rather than my mother’s. I have tried to assure them that I am against her imprisonment but they do not accept that.’

The King grunted. He was angry with Richard for raising this point but he knew it to be true.

‘If you can subdue them, then that is good.’

‘They are not like the English,’ said Richard. ‘They must be considered from a different point of view. They love pleasure; they want to sing and dance and dream in the sun.’

‘Then it should not be difficult to keep them in order.’

‘They work in subtle ways. They arouse the anger of the people through their poetry. They sing songs of their Duchess lying fretting in her cell.’

‘Nonsense! She has her servants and is well looked after in Salisbury. The only restriction is that she cannot leave to go about setting people against me.’

‘They don’t believe this. In the songs she is represented as the poor prisoner. They set her behind prison bars in those songs and you are represented as the tyrant who inflicts humiliation and torment.’

‘Then make songs to tell the truth.’

‘The prisoner is a better subject for pity than the jailer.’

‘A plague on their song-making. Make them aware of the sword.’

‘I have done so, Father, and have brought about a kind of compromise, but always there will be rebellions. Always the poets will sing of the wrongs of their beloved Duchess. Release her. Send her back to Aquitaine.’

‘To conspire with the King of France against me? Never!’

Richard shrugged his shoulders. ‘There will never be peace in Aquitaine while my mother is your prisoner,’ he said.

This was true; and with this uneasy thought Henry went on for his meeting with Louis.

Poor Louis, thought Henry. He was showing his age. He had never been much of a man in Henry’s estimation, but now he was really feeble.

He was clearly surprised that Henry should have come to see him and was very suspicious as to what this could mean. He believed that it had something to do with the betrothal of Richard to Alice, about which he was beginning to think there was clearly some mystery.

Henry had sent Richard back to Aquitaine, for he did not want him to be present during the negotiations with Louis about the marriage, and Richard being such a fine figure of a man would bring home the point that there could not be any reason on his side why the marriage should not take place immediately.

It was disconcerting to find that Louis had assembled a cardinal and some of his leading bishops. Clearly they were going to attempt to force him to agree to the celebration of the marriage without delay.

He was in a very delicate position and he needed every bit of astuteness to avoid the issue. Of one thing he was certain: he was not going to let Alice go.

He embraced Louis as king to king and then did homage as Duke of Normandy to his vassal lord.

They talked sadly of their lost grandson and immediately after that the subject of Alice and Richard was raised and everyone waited to hear Henry’s objections to the match.

Objections? The tawny eyebrows were raised, the nostrils flared. The lion was benevolent in his surprise. But of course the marriage would take place. Were not Richard and Alice betrothed?

‘There has been much delay,’ Louis reminded him.

‘My dear brother,’ answered Henry with a smile, ‘the Princess Alice is young still. As for my son he has his Dukedom of Aquitaine to protect. He has scarcely been in England for some time.’

‘But he is of age to be a husband and the Princess is no longer a child.’

‘There is truth in that and the marriage must take place,’ answered Henry.

The company was so taken aback for they had been expecting there would be some hint of the King’s objection. Their prepared arguments had no point now as they had intended to stress the advantages of the match and to listen to the King’s objections to it.

‘Then it would seem,’ said Louis, ‘that we are in agreement on this matter.’

Henry bowed his head.

‘The question now is when can the marriage take place?’

‘That,’ Henry agreed, ‘is the only question. I will suggest that as I am to have the honour of your company for some days, we discuss together the most appropriate time.’

The Cardinal and the Bishops retired. It seemed to them that there had been no need for them to have come. The marriage was to take place at a suitable time. The King of England had raised none of the objections they expected; and it was true that Richard was busy protecting his dukedom.

At the very earliest moment the King would recall Richard from Aquitaine, the marriage would take place and everyone would be satisfied. It was only necessary now for the two kings to agree on a date.

Henry was pleased with himself. He had come through the first part of the ordeal. Before the Cardinal and the Bishops he had promised that Richard and Alice should marry. But it would not be the first time he had broken a promise. All he had to do was stave off the arrangement of an actual date.

Alone with Louis he expressed great concern for the French King’s looks.

‘It has been an anxious time for you, doubtless,’ he said.

‘A king’s lot is always an anxious one,’ replied Louis.

‘Ah, you speak truth, brother. And it is for each of us to remember this and do all in his power to help the other. It is a sad thing when kings war together. The crown is a sacred thing – no matter whose crown – and dishonour to one is a dishonour to all.’

‘I can agree with you on that.’

‘The health of your son gives you some concern, I believe.’

Louis nodded sadly.

‘As you know full well, I have suffered great anxiety through my children,’ said Henry.

‘There is the conflict between you and their mother. That is at the root of it.’

‘She is a perfidious woman, Louis. We both have reason to remember that.’

‘Yet she can be faithful. She is to her sons, I believe.’

‘Only because in supporting them she betrays her husband. She betrayed you once, Louis. Strange that you, the King of France, and I the King of England should both have suffered at her hands.’

‘Release her, Henry. It is not good for royalty to be imprisoned.’

‘I would I could. But how could I trust her? She it was who raised my sons against me. We have our troubles, you and I. Perhaps God is punishing us.’

‘For our sins – doubtless.’

‘Of which I have committed many and you a few, Louis.’

‘I wonder. I still hear the cries of innocent people in the cities and hamlets my soldiers have pillaged.’

‘There is one way to shut out those cries. You did it once and I doubt not your sins were forgiven you. But since then perhaps there have been others.’

‘I doubt it not.’

‘Have you ever thought, Louis, of going on another crusade?’

Louis was astonished but Henry realised he had struck the right note. Louis could not have many years to live and he had always been a very religious man. He would see as sin that which to Henry was an everyday occurrence. Henry doubted Louis had ever been an unfaithful husband. He had always tried to be just. He was weak of course but the best way to save Alice was to get at her father through religion.

It was a brilliant stroke because Henry had to come away from this meeting with no definite date arranged for the wedding of Richard and Alice.

‘I myself have often thought that I would go on a crusade.’

‘You, Henry! I am surprised. I did not think you would be concerned with such matters.’

‘It is true I have had my lands to protect and to hold. You are less harried in that direction than I am. But I have often thought of getting together an army and marching to the Holy Land in this most righteous cause.’

‘And what of your dominions?’

‘I have sons.’

‘You would give young Henry the power he craves?’

‘It is his due,’ said Henry.

Louis looked at him squarely. His plans were falling into shape. He had supported young Henry against his father. It was Louis’s belief that the King should give his son more power. It had been the reason for the war between them. Henry had won that round; but if he really went on a crusade and left young Henry to govern, with Louis’s daughter Marguerite beside him, that would please Louis very much.

‘You are right,’ cried Louis. ‘Let us ponder on this matter of a crusade.’

‘By God’s eyes I see you are ready to join me in this. I was never more pleased. You and I banding together as others have done before us and going into righteous battle. We can raise the men and money we need for this enterprise.’

‘We can,’ agreed Louis, ‘and we will.’

‘We will take an oath together, for there must be no friction between us. This is God’s inspiration. Do you not feel it, Louis?’

Louis was sure that he could. It was what he had always wanted to do, and now was the time to do it. It was the way to cleanse his soul of all sin; and if he died on the pilgrimage he would go straight to Heaven. Until the King of England had suggested this and talked of it as though there were no difficulties which could not be swept away he would not have thought it possible.

Henry went on to talk enthusiastically of the project. What fortunate men they were! They both had sons. Philip was young as yet – twelve years old – but he had good advisers and a king-to-be could not shoulder responsibility too soon. Look at the Conqueror – he who was referred to again and again as the greatest ruler of all time – he had been a child when the Dukedom was thrust upon him. Henry had sons; Louis had a son. They could both contemplate this exciting project knowing that it was not an impossibility.

‘We must swear that we are friends and neither will do anything that could be harmful to the other,’ said Henry. ‘Let us take an oath on this. Let us show the world that this enterprise is the most important event that has ever befallen either of us.’

Louis was agreeable. ‘The world should know it,’ he said.

‘And now we must plan our exercise. It needs much thought. The equipping of armies to undertake such an enterprise is a major matter. Dismiss your priests when they have heard what we intend to do, for I cannot tarry with you long and we have much to plan.’

Louis could think of nothing but the proposed expedition. He had once before gone on such a journey. It had been a failure, but that was due to the fact that Eleanor had accompanied him. God had been displeased then, and looking back Louis was not surprised. At that time Louis had been so enamoured of Eleanor that he had allowed her too much freedom. And how she had rewarded him – by entering into an incestuous relationship with her uncle and, so it was said, taking a Saracen as her lover! It was at that time that she had begun asking for a divorce. Oh, yes, it had been a disaster and he could see that Eleanor with the fine clothes she had taken with her for the trip had turned it from a holy enterprise into a worldly display of splendour and immorality.

This would be different. Two ageing and serious men bent on serving God and so earning the redemption of their sins.

He could think of nothing but the means he would use to raise the money, what equipment he would need, whom he would take with him.

Henry shared his excitement and the rest of the time they spent together was given over to making these arrangements.

Henry said farewell to his dear brother with whom he had sworn oaths of friendship. It was true he had promised that the marriage between Richard and Alice should take place but the vital point had been eluded. No date had been given.

As for going on a crusade Henry laughed at the idea. Louis was a fool. Did he think Henry would hand over his realm to inexperienced boys? Louis was unworldly, he did not understand what power meant to a man like Henry. Nor did he understand the determination to keep to himself the woman who pleased him more than any other.