How happy we were to be together!

“It is good that this happened,” said Henry. “It will teach Louis a lesson. He will not wish to meddle in my affairs again in a hurry.”

He was delighted with all I had done. I could see that he thought our marriage a real success since we could work so well in unison.

I told him that Aquitaine must be wooed. The people were completely loyal to me, but they had never taken kindly to Louis and I wanted them to feel differently about Henry. He saw that I was right.

I said: “We should make a tour of the country. We should stay in the castles. You must get to know them and let them see that this marriage of ours is a good one for them as well as us.”

He told me that England was very much on his mind. Stephen might not live much longer and when the time came he must be ready.

“Eustace will not meekly stand aside.”

“I do not think the people will want him.”

“Let us talk of these things while we are making our journey through my country.”

And this was what we did.

My people were wary of him, but it was heartening to see the enthusiasm with which they greeted me. They loved me. When I rode among them in my silk and velvet gown, with my hair flowing about my shoulders, they were enchanted. Henry, however, square and stocky, somewhat inelegant, was not their idea of the romantic lover; he did not match the heroes of the ballads they loved to sing; he was not the kind for whom lovesick maidens sigh.

Moreover, he was impatient. The nights we spent at the various castles brought no joy to him. He found it irksome to have to sit still so long. I was disturbed because I knew that, in spite of our passionate relationship, he wanted to be away in England.

The fact was that my people did not take to this uncouth man who had married their Duchess, but I did not know how greatly they resented him until we came to Limoges, where I saw a side to his nature which gave me twinges of alarm. We did not go into the town but encamped outside. This was a pity for if we had not done this, the trouble might not have arisen.

We had had a long day and were hungry. The cook came to me and told me in great distress that the town would provide no food for us.

Henry was present. “And pray why not?” he demanded. “And who has said this?”

“It was one of the servants of the castellan, my lord.”

“Bring him here to me this moment.”

The man was brought and stood trembling before Henry’s wrath.

Henry had changed. His eyes were bulging; they were wild. I had never seen him like that before.

“What does this mean?” he demanded.

“My lord,” stammered the man, “my master has said that the town of Limoges is not obliged to supply food to those encamped outside its walls.”

“Does your master know who comes?”

“Yes. It is the Duchess and her husband.”

That added to Henry’s rage. Not the Duke and the Duchess, but the Duchess and her husband. It was how they regarded him. He thought this a slight to him—which it was probably intended to be.

I could well believe in that moment that he had the Devil’s blood in him. His face was purple, his bulging eyes blazing with fury.

He strode out of the tent. I heard him shouting orders. I did not know at once what those orders were but when I did I was appalled.

The walls of the town were to be razed to the ground and the newly built bridge destroyed. In future when the Duke and the Duchess of Aquitaine visited the town of Limoges there would he no insolent men to deny them hospitality because they had encamped outside their walls.

I suppose I could have countermanded the order. What if I had? What would have happened? What would he have ordered me to do? I was too stunned to act. I did nothing to stop the orders being carried out.

I thought afterward: Suppose I had given orders that it was not to be done. There would have been war, I was sure ... war between my people and my husband, and I should have stood with them.

It was the first time I was aware of those black rages of his. This was when I knew that there was a great deal to learn about my husband.

We left Limoges and continued our journey. It was not the same.

The news of what had happened spread through the duchy, and I noticed some sullen looks. My people would accept me and all my sins, for they were the sort of peccadilloes which they understood. The burning of the walls of Limoges was quite another matter.

Henry was very shrewd. He quickly assessed the people’s attitude toward me and he was too clever to resent it. I realized that he was planning to leave me in control of Aquitaine while he looked after Anjou and Normandy—and of course his eyes were on England. There was nothing petty about his feelings. Everything about him was larger than life—even his rages.

During those first months of our marriage he endured those evenings when we sat and listened to the minstrels, but I knew he thought it all a waste of time. He was, though, studying those about us, deciding whom he could trust and of whom he would have to be wary. He was assessing the value of my property, considering what would be wanted for its defense if need be; and all the time he was noting the people’s love and loyalty to me.

If I had ever thought of him as a malleable boy, I was rapidly learning my mistake. I might be eleven years older than he and that must give me some advantage, but it also meant that I had the understanding to know this man I had married and how I must act if I wished to keep him. An uneasy thought had occurred to me: that my feelings for him were stronger than his for me. I was as deeply sensual as he was; we were matched in that; but it did occur to me to wonder what happened when he was far away from me. He was hardly the man to put himself under restraint. I learned in those first few months that it was not going to be easy to keep such a man entirely mine. He had always had a reputation for promiscuity before marriage. He was lusty, looking all the time for conquest, no matter in what direction. I was beginning to feel a little uneasy as I emerged from my first flush of passion.

But I was no weak woman. I was sure I would be able to deal with any situation which presented itself to me. In the meantime this wandering life had to come to an end. He was thinking of England.

I knew that he had to go and that I had to let him go. It seemed to be my fate to marry men who were absent from my bed. Louis had stayed away from choice; it was different with Henry. He was lusty, but ambition came first—so I thought then. I had to learn that this husband of mine was the sort of man who did not set great store by love when lust would suffice. For him the parting would not be such a wrench for he would casually indulge in sexual relationships whenever the opportunity arose—and such opportunities were strewn in his path. That had always been a way of life, and his marriage would not alter that. This I had yet to discover, and fury possessed me when I did.

I should have known, of course. I should have been more worldly. He did care for me in a way. He admired me as he did his mother, recognizing that both of us were exceptional women of intelligence and experience. He was not one of those men who thought of women as naturally inferior. Only when they were did he think so. He respected me as he did his mother, but I was to discover that the idea of remaining faithful to me had never occurred to him.

At this time I was still living in a romantic glow, although the affair at Limoges had opened my eyes a little and set warning bells ringing in my mind. I had begun to understand that he was not quite what I had thought him.

He talked to me glowingly of his plans. He could not rest idly anywhere, and there was a task to be completed. He had to wrest his heritage from the supine Stephen and his useless Eustace, as he called them. For this he needed an army, and armies cost money. He needed a great deal of money. I could supply some but not all that was necessary. He had to set about finding it without delay.

He was going to Normandy, from where he would doubtless cross the Channel. His mother would do all she could to help, and she would guard Normandy while he was in England. My task was to keep Anjou, with Aquitaine, safe for him during his absence.

He discussed this at length when I should have preferred to hear his protestations of fidelity and undying love, and his sorrow because of our enforced parting. But Henry would not waste time on such trivialities. The preliminaries to love-making did not appeal to him. They were a waste of time. We both knew what we wanted; there was no need for wooing. He wanted to talk of plans.

I was to go to Anjou, for my presence would be needed there more than in Aquitaine, where I could rely on the loyalty of my subjects.

I agreed with all this. I did suggest that it might be better if he tarried until the spring, for if he went now he would arrive in England in the winter. Would that be wise?

He said he would have preferred the spring but must perforce make do with the winter. And that was an end of the matter.

So he went to Normandy and I to the castle of Angers, where I settled down to wait for his return, praying that it would be a triumphant one.

To my joy I found that I was pregnant. I laughed inwardly, thinking of all the barren years with Louis. So it was his fault. I had always suspected that it was; there was bound to be something less than a man about Louis. But a woman does get uneasy feelings when she wants desperately to conceive and cannot; and it is only natural that she begins to wonder whether the lack of fertility is in some way due to herself.