When he said he had never enjoyed an adventure more, he meant it. When he said I was more beautiful than any woman he had ever known, he meant that, too. He was not one for pretty speeches. It was very refreshing.

For a few days I lived in a dream of contentment—not thinking beyond the next encounter. I could not have enough of him, nor he of me. He had no qualms about seducing the wife of the King of France. Perhaps he knew it was not the first time I had been unfaithful to Louis. Such as Henry would have no respect for Louis.

I was delighted to find that he was not merely the virile lover for whom I had been searching. He had a great respect for learning, and both his parents had wanted the best tutors for him. Master Peter of Saintes had been his first tutor, and when his uncle, Earl Robert of Gloucester, had brought him to England to join his mother, he had made sure that he had been given the best instruction. Soldier-adventurer that he was, Henry had taken to learning. I had known from the start that he was unique.

After our first wild rapturous encounter I felt alive as I had not since I lost Raymond. I was happy. I felt as though I was going to live again.

Every moment we could, we spent together. It was not easy for people in our position to escape alone. We had good friends, both of us, and recklessly we took advantage of that. Sometimes I used to marvel at what had happened. I was passionately in love with a man eleven years younger than I, who was not at all handsome, who was bowlegged, whose hands were red and weatherbeaten, who hardly ever uttered a compliment, who did not sing songs in praise of my beauty—in fact, he was entirely different from any man who had interested me before. It was amazing, but all the more exciting for that. I could think of nothing but Henry, and I was dreading the day when he would leave.

He talked about his childhood, of his overbearing mother, of her tempestuous life with his father.

“She is a very handsome woman,” he said, “determined to have her own way. She never forgets that she is the daughter of the King of England and the widow of the Emperor of Germany. I think she greatly regretted having to give up the title of Empress and then having to fight for her rights and failing to win them. All her hopes are on me now. I have to go on and win the crown of England.”

“And there is Stephen’s son, Eustace,” I said.

“Yes ... and the King of France would send aid to him.”

“Louis has no stomach for fighting. It is only because of Vitry. He cannot forget that. He wants to help Stephen’s brother, the Count of Champagne ... and that means Stephen’s son.”

“He will not succeed. I tell you this: I am going to be King of England one day.”

“I know you are. England and Aquitaine ... they could be ours if we married.”

He was slightly taken aback and was silent for a few moments contemplating this glittering project.

I was the richest heiress in France. He was the Duke of Normandy, and his sights were set on the crown of England. Matilda had failed to grasp that crown, but he could succeed. How could weaklings like Stephen and his son Eustace hope to defeat such as Henry Plantagenet?

“What a prospect!” he said slowly. “England and Aquitaine and nights like this together in holy wedlock. Alas, my Queen, you have a husband.”

“I have long been wanting a divorce.”

“And failed to get it.”

“I shall, though. I am determined.”

“On what grounds?”

“Consanguinity.”

He burst out laughing. “And you and I? I doubt not we are as closely related.”

“We will forget that.”

“Yes, let us forget it. All the noble families are connected by blood. It is a good thing. It makes a divorce that much easier when it is wanted. Of course, the marriage could be annulled because of me.”

“We do not wish for that.”

“No, no.” He laughed again. “Consanguinity is best. And do you think it possible?”

“Suger is against it. I know that is because he does not want Aquitaine to slip out of France’s hands.”

“He’s a clever old man.”

“Louis takes his advice on everything, but Bernard hates me. I think he would like to see me leave Louis.”

“He is more formidable.”

“Yes, but Suger is strong and constantly beside Louis. I have been trying for years and I cannot bring him to the point. But I do believe he is beginning to relent. He is a monk at heart and has no feeling for love.”

“Poor fellow! What he misses!”

“He does not think so. He prefers to spend his nights on his knees.”

“But this divorce ... You and I. I like it. England and Aquitaine ... together with the most exciting woman in the world. What more could a man ask?”

“Do you think it possible?”

“Of course it is possible.”

“And if I were divorced?”

“You and I would be together. No longer would you be Queen of France. Shall you mind that?”

“I shall rejoice in it.”

“‘Duchess of Normandy’ is not such a bad title. What think you of ‘Queen of England’?”

“That would make me the happiest woman in the world.”

And so we plighted our troth.

Negotiations continued and to the surprise of all Geoffrey of Anjou released Gerald Berlai. He said he had intended to do so from the beginning and that was why he had brought him to the Court of France; but when Bernard had made threats against him, he had become incensed and acted as he did.

Moreover, Henry swore fealty to Louis for the fief of Normandy and was acknowledged as Duke; so what had begun in such a stormy fashion ended in peace.

Louis was very satisfied with the proceedings. He believed that Bernard’s threats of the dire consequences had subdued Geoffrey but I knew differently. The Plantagenets had what they wished for, and that was a truce with Louis which would prevent his taking up arms on Stephen’s behalf.

Meanwhile Henry and I were spending each night together. So deeply was I immersed in our relationship that I did not care if I did betray my secret to those about me. They would discover in any case. It was impossible to keep secrets from one’s ladies. But they would not dare to tattle even among themselves for fear of my wrath, so at night Henry would come to my bedchamber, and there we would indulge in that which had become of the utmost importance to us both.

We were the more desperate because we knew that we should soon have to part. But it would not be for long, I assured him. I was more determined than ever now to have my divorce and I would. Louis would be more intolerable to me after this interlude.

I wanted to be with Henry; I needed him. I was passionately in love with him and he with me. Perhaps he was also a little in love with Aquitaine, and perhaps I did cast covetous eyes on another crown, this time to be shared with the man of my choice. The crown of France—the crown of England. What did it matter? It was the man who was important to me.

It may have been that we each liked what the other had to bring, but that was no deterrent to our passion; and I think that perhaps my nights with Henry were even more exciting than those I had spent with Raymond, for with Henry there was hope of a lasting relationship which there could never have been with Raymond. Henry had brought me to a new life; he had taken me away from the nostalgic past; and I was deeply in love with him. I must get my divorce.

When I was alone with Louis, I asked him once more.

He shook his head. “It would not be good for France.”

“You listen to Suger.”

“He is the wisest man I know.”

“But surely he cannot wish you to continue with a marriage which is no true one.”

“It is a true marriage to me.”

“Louis,” I said, “you know that you were not meant to marry. You should have gone into the Church.”

“God decreed it should be as it is.”

“Yes ... yes. God in His Heaven commanded a pig to kill your brother, I have heard it many times. You should give your country a male heir.”

“You wish to try once more?”

“God has shown clearly that he does not intend us to have a male heir. You must divorce me and marry someone who can give you what you need ... what the country needs.”

“Suger does not believe it is God’s will.”

“Suger fears the loss of Aquitaine.”

Louis looked at me sorrowfully. “I have heard rumors of you ... and the young Plantagenet.”

“Yes?” I said.

“It grieves me.”

“You could have the marriage annulled.”

“For adultery.”

“It is the most conclusive of all reasons.”

“Do you want so much to leave me?”

“I believe it would be best for us both. We have never been suited to each other.”

“I am sorry I have failed you.”

“We have failed each other. Louis, it is clear to me that we should never have married. We are too close in blood.”

Even as I spoke I shivered. I was as close if not closer to Henry Plantagenet.

“That,” I went on vehemently, “is the best of all reasons. If you divorced me for adultery you would not be able to marry again, and you must marry again. Suger must realize how badly France needs a male heir.”

“He believes we could get one through prayer.”

“It is not the usual method.”

Louis ignored my remark. “If we were truly penitent, He would grant our request.”

He seemed uncertain. No doubt he was thinking there was much to forgive. Vitry for him, adultery for me.

I said: “Bernard would advise a divorce, I believe.”

I was sure that was true. Bernard thought I was a devil incarnate. I thought: If it were not for Suger, it would not be so difficult.