“He was outspoken about Toulouse.”

“Thomas would always be outspoken.”

“We can only hope that this appointment will bring harmony between Church and State.”

Thomas returned to England, taking young Henry with him. I was relieved to see that there was already affection between them. Thomas would be kindly and gentle with the boy, and that eased my qualms considerably.

In due course I heard that the Canterbury Chapter, having been made aware by the justiciar of the King’s insistence, elected Thomas Archbishop, and later the election was ratified at Westminster by the bishops and clergy there. By June he was ordained priest in Canterbury Cathedral by the Bishop of Rochester, and the following day he was consecrated by the Bishop of Winchester. Henry arranged for the pallium to be sent to him from Rome, so that he did not have to make the journey there to get it; and by August he had received it.

He was now Archbishop of Canterbury but Henry thought it wise to postpone that other scheme for crowning Henry for a while, although he intended to do it in time.

Our progress through our dominions had taken us to Choisi on the Loire, and it was while we were resting there for a short period that the first indication of what trouble might be brewing between Henry and Thomas was given to us.

A messenger arrived from Canterbury. Henry received him at once. I was with him at the time and eager to know what news there was from England.

The messenger handed Henry a package. He opened it and stood for a moment looking in astonishment at what it revealed. It was the Great Seal of England and could mean only one thing. I saw his face grow purple as he read the accompanying letter.

I dismissed the messenger for I could see that Henry was going to have one of his rages and it would be well for the innocent carrier of bad news to be out of sight of that.

I went to him and took the letter from him. It was from Thomas Becket. It stated that he must resign the chancellorship as he could not do his duty to one master while he served another.

Henry was spluttering: “The knave! What did he think ... it was what I planned. Chancellor and Archbishop ... his duty lying with me. Now he will be a slave to the Pope.”

I shook my head slowly. Now was not the time to remind him of how his mother and others had warned him against taking this step. I saw the foam at his mouth and the wild look in his eyes. He picked up a stool and threw it at the tapestried wall. He clenched his fists, and blasphemies poured from his lips.

I stood watching him quietly.

This was a genuine rage. He had thought to rule Thomas Becket and he had thrust him into a position which he did not want; now he was realizing that even he could make mistakes. His rage was against himself as much as Thomas. He flung himself onto the floor and catching up bunches of rushes gnawed at them insanely.

I think I fell completely out of love with him in that moment. I was uneasy. Instinct told me that this was the beginning of conflict between the King and his newly appointed Archbishop.

My daughter was born that year. She was named Eleanor after me. We were in Normandy at the time, at a place called Domfont. She had a ceremonious baptism conducted by the Cardinal Legate who happened to be there at the time, and she was presented at the font by the Bishop of Avranches and Robert de Monte, Abbot of Mount St. Michael.

She was a healthy baby—as all my babies had been, with the exception of William.

I was very happy with my children but I did miss my eldest, Henry, and his absence brought home to me the fact that I could not keep my children with me all the time.

The Beloved Enemy

I WAS NO LONGER YOUNG. At forty most women are resigned to old age. I was not like that. I redoubled my efforts. I adopted a discreet use of cosmetics; I was meticulous in choosing my clothes. I knew that I looked like a woman ten years younger.

Henry was twenty-nine and looked more than his age. He was the opposite of me and never made any attempt to protect himself from the ravages of time, spending long hours in the saddle, sleeping in any place which offered itself, sharing the discomforts of his soldiers. That was probably why he had their devotion.

Sometimes I looked at him, with his bow-legs, his rough skin, his earthiness, and I marveled that I could ever have been as obsessed by him as I was in the early days of our marriage. Added to all this was his blatant infidelity. I had accepted that because it meant nothing to him; and for all that he must have been aware of my waning affection there persisted a certain bond between us. We admired each other in certain ways. I had to admit that he was a great ruler; any decision he made had reason behind it. I had never known him make one which did not have what he believed to be some advantage to himself. Sometimes he was wrong, as in the case of appointing Thomas Becket to the Archbishopric of Canterbury, thinking to have a Chancellor-Archbishop whom he could control. It was a mistake but it had had logical reasoning behind it. He had miscalculated his man though—which was odd when one considered all the time he had spent with Becket.

He reminded me that he had been four years in France. I had been here a considerable time too, but not quite as long as that.

“Four years away from my kingdom,” he said.

“We are singularly blessed in Leicester and de Luci.”

“Yes. But it is time I went back.”

I agreed with him. I wondered whether the appointment of Thomas had anything to do with his wish to return. I think I had begun to question my relationship with him when I first knew of Thomas. In those days they had been almost like lovers. Henry’s eyes shone when he looked on the man; he began to be amused in anticipation before Becket spoke. There was some indefinable attraction Becket had for him. Thomas had never been diffident. There was nothing of the sycophant about him; indeed he had been openly critical of Henry, who had taken from him what would have enraged him from another. Perhaps I had been a little jealous in those days when Henry had meant a great deal to me.

And now, did he want to go back to England because Thomas was there? True, it was time he returned. England was the most important of his possessions. He must not neglect it.

His avaricious acquisitiveness put a great strain on him. He could never resist seizing any possession which came his way; he seemed to forget they had to be protected.

So now we were to return to England and he planned to spend Christmas at Oxford.

We traveled down to the coast. The sea was at its most treacherous, the winds violent. It would be folly to put to sea in such weather. We waited and time passed. We should certainly not be in England for Christmas.

Instead we spent it at Cherbourg without a great deal of celebration because we were unprepared; and each day we waited for the wind to abate. I was longing to see my son Henry and wondering how he was faring in Becket’s household. It was about eight months since I had seen him and, as before that we had been constantly together, I missed him very much. I planned to see him as soon as I returned to England.

As the weather did not improve and we remained at Cherbourg, Henry grew very impatient.

“I doubt not,” I said, “that the first person you will wish to see when we get to England will be your recalcitrant Archbishop.”

“I shall need to see all those who hold posts of importance,” he replied.

“I hope you will be equally eager to see your son.”

“Oh, he is in good hands ... the best possible.”

“In the hands of the man who refused the office of Chancellor which you wished him to keep?”

“Becket has a mind of his own.”

“It would be better if that mind was in accordance with that of his King.”

“You have never liked the fellow. I can’t think why. I should have thought he would have been your sort ... cultured ... pretty clothes ... nice clean hands. I think, my dear, you are a little jealous of my affection for him.”

“It was rather excessive.” He laughed aloud.

“Perhaps it has diminished a little,” I went on. “He angered you when he slid out of the chancellorship.” Henry’s face darkened at the memory, and I could not resist adding: “You made it very clear that you were displeased.”

“Thomas is too honest a man to deny what he thinks right.”

“I hope he is as honest in all his dealings. He did manage to accumulate a great deal of wealth. I wonder how.”

“He would have been a fool if he hadn’t, and Thomas is no fool.”

“I can see,” I said, “that you are looking forward to the reunion. I myself look forward with equal pleasure to seeing my son again.”

It was not until the end of January that the weather allowed us to sail. When we landed at Southampton, Becket was among the delegation waiting to welcome us; and, to my delight, with him was Henry.

My son and I embraced. I held him at arm’s length and looked into his handsome face. How I loved those fair Plantagenet looks which came from his paternal grandfather. It was a pity Geoffrey le Bel had not passed on his good looks to his son, but at least they were there in my children, having slipped a generation.

“You have been happy, I see, my son,” I cried. “How we have all missed you.”

“I missed you,” said Henry.

“And you have been happy?”

“Oh yes.” I saw him look at Becket, and there was something like adoration in his eyes. I felt a twinge of annoyance, but my maternal feelings were stronger than petty jealousy. I was glad he had found a good home and affection with Becket.