For two months I enjoyed the domestic life with my children. My favorite would always be Richard. He was so tall, so fair and golden, quite the most handsome of them all in my eyes, though some would say that Henry was more so. Poor little Geoffrey had missed those good looks and lacked the height of the other two. One should not allow looks to influence one, but how could one help it? Moreover, Richard was so like me in character. He loved poetry and had a beautiful singing voice. I felt he would have been at home in my grandfather’s Courts of Love.

I heard from the King. There was a great deal of trouble everywhere. He believed Becket was stirring it up. Not that he did anything very much. He was just there, playing the martyr and making Henry the tyrant. Of course, he was getting help from Louis. A plague on the man!

Henry wanted me. He needed me in Anjou and Maine. I must leave at once. Leicester and de Luci could take care of England, as they had so well in the past.

So in May I left England with Richard and Matilda. We stayed briefly in Normandy, paying a visit to the Empress Matilda in her palace near Notre Dame des Prs. She was delighted to see the children and me but I was saddened to see that her health was deteriorating. She had changed a great deal since her fiery youth and was giving herself over to good works. But she cared deeply for her family and was distressed by Henry’s quarrel with Becket.

“It should never have happened,” she said. “He should never have given him Canterbury.”

How right she was! On the other hand, she was delighted by her namesake’s coming marriage. She said she had never really felt well since her illness five years before. But she did not altogether regret it, for being less active gave one time for reflection.

When we left her, we made our way to Angers, where I was to stay and act as Regent.

I was quite happy to be in Angers. It recalled the days when I was the Queen of Love, and poets and musicians sang their songs to me.

I reviewed my life. I had had two husbands, and neither of them had given me the satisfaction I needed. Louis was incapable of it but he was a good and gentle man. I had hoped for much from Henry but he had failed me and the disappointment was bitter. Chiefly I resented his infidelity; his driving ambition I could understand; the childish rages could be excused; but his attitude to women, his picking them up and casting them aside, his ability to take equal satisfaction from a night with a prostitute and a wife who loved him ... that was something I could not tolerate.

No, he had killed my love for him.

I had loved my uncle Raymond in Antioch. Looking back, it seemed that that was the most satisfactory love affair of my life. And I was old now and could no longer expect the raptures of youth.

Henry was back in England now, in conflict with the Welsh. He had failed there once, and failure rankled with Henry.

Meanwhile here was I in Angers, not greatly caring that we were separated. I knew I could rule my own people better than he could because I understood them. I had my little daughter Matilda to prepare for her wedding; and there was my beloved Richard, always a joy to be with. And in addition I was growing unwieldy.

August had come. In two months my child would be born. This was a wearisome time, when I was feeling exhausted by the least exertion. This was different from my first pregnancies, when I had eagerly looked forward to the birth. I had already proved my fruitfulness to the world and had enough sons to govern our empire and two daughters to make alliances beneficial to us. I had done my duty and had had enough.

I shall never forget that day. A messenger came to the castle, and as soon as I saw him I knew he had important news.

“A son!” he panted. “A son for the King of France. The Queen has given birth to a son. There is rejoicing through France.”

I could not believe it. Louis the father of a son! After all these years of endeavor! It was not true.

“I do not believe it!” I cried.

“It is true, my lady. They are singing in the streets of Paris. They are calling the child ‘the God-Given.’ They say he is going to save France ... from the English.”

I felt dismayed and at the same time a kind of mischievous amusement. I was imagining the news reaching England. How would Henry take it? Would he lie on the floor and gnaw the rushes? It was almost certain that he would. And he would have good reason for anger on this occasion. His most glorious plans quietly dispersed by the birth of one small boy to the King and Queen of France! Our Henry could not be King because this little boy would wear the crown. Equally he would imagine Louis’s joy, the hours of kneeling in thanksgiving. In the churches there would be paeans of praise to God who had granted this longed-for wish.

I was soon hearing accounts of that rejoicing. There was talk of nothing but the heir to the throne of France. Paris went wild with delight. Bells rang through the nights; the people danced in the towns, and bonfires were lighted at every street corner.

France at last had an heir. He was called Philip Augustus. He was the hope of France. Merely by being born he had scored the greatest possible victory over the English.

And Henry—in Woodstock, of course, where he seemed to spend a great deal of time nowadays—would be gnashing his teeth in rage.

It was a sobering thought that all his devious plans could be destroyed by one stroke.

In October our daughter was born. She was called Joanna.

I had expected Henry to come to Angers. Christmas was approaching, and it was a custom to spend it together with the family. I wondered what was keeping him in England. I had heard of no reason, and he was usually so restless. It was rare for him to spend so much time in one place. He was at Oxford or Woodstock most of the time.

Of course, he must have been deeply shocked by the birth of Louis’s son, but I should have thought that event would hardly produce listlessness, rather would it have goaded him into action. I began to wonder whether he was ill. He must have fallen into violent rages when he heard the news from France. It had often occurred to me that he might do himself an injury when he was in such a state.

Christmas came. It was pleasant to have the children around me, and the new baby brought joy to me. There was unrest in the provinces over which I had jurisdiction and, of course, the fact of Philip Augustus’s arrival had weaned Henry of a certain power, and those who had hesitated to rise against him before might be bolder now. On the other hand the people had a certain affection for me, and I felt I could keep the revolt simmering without its actually boiling over. With his sweeping reforms, his disciplines and his uncouth appearance and manners, Henry had alienated my people.

We heard he was coming over in early March, but that was canceled and he remained a week longer in Woodstock. It was not until April that he arrived in Maine, and then he traveled through Alenon and Roche-Mabille to Angers.

He was delighted with the new baby. Matilda was indifferent to his presence. She was getting apprehensive about her marriage, poor child. As for Richard, there was a suppressed hostility in his relationship with his father; for some reason they did not like each other very much. I wondered why: Richard was by far the most outstanding of our sons. I thought he was more handsome even than young Henry; he was more cultured, more balanced, less vain; moreover, he shared my love of music and poetry. Perhaps it was that which Henry did not care for. But Richard excelled in all manly sports in fact, more so than any of the others. Perhaps he objected to Richard’s affection for me, for the boy showed it in every look and gesture.

However, our meeting passed amicably.

Henry expressed his fury over the arrival of Philip Augustus. I saw the red in his eyes and the purple in his face when he referred to the matter and he could easily have indulged in one of his rages on the spot. He said it was a disaster. We might have found another bride for young Henry if we could have seen into the future.

“Who would have believed that Louis would be able to do it?” he cried.

I said: “It’s no use harking back. We have to go on from here. Louis has his son. He’ll probably have another now. The French throne will never come your way, Henry.”

“By God’s eyes, who would have thought I could be cheated so?”

“Louis would not call it cheating. He will think it is God’s reward for all the praying he has done.”

“It’s true. We have to look elsewhere. There is this marriage of Matilda’s. That will be a good thing. And I want Brittany for Geoffrey. Then there is a match for Eleanor and the new child.”

“Pray let us get her out of her cradle first.”

“Becket’s causing trouble, of course.”

“Simply by doing nothing.”

“Posing as the passive martyr. Alexander has received him. Louis has arranged that. This alliance with Henry the Lion has come at a good moment. Alexander will be worried ... and rightly so. My friendship with Saxony could mean I’m wavering toward Paschal. I could withdraw the obedience of all my Angevin dominions from Alexander. Oh yes, he’ll have some anxious moments about this alliance, and that is good.

“But there is much to be done. I want this matter of Brittany settled with the union of our Geoffrey and the heiress, Constance; and Henry must be recognized as the heir of Normandy and Anjou; and Richard as the heir of Aquitaine. I am thinking of the King of Castile for Eleanor, and Sicily for Joanna. Unfortunately we should have to get Louis’s approval.”