Poor Rosamund! I had railed against her, but now I could feel sorry for her. It had not been her fault. The King had desired her and he expected his subjects to obey him. Rosamund had obeyed. I expected she had been fond of him. There was something lovable about him ... though his children failed to see it. I had found it once, and if I were truthful I would admit that, hating him as I did, he still had some fascination for me.

However, he had lost Rosamund and she had been my greatest rival.

And still I remained his prisoner.

I often wondered how I was able to endure the restriction in which I was placed. Perhaps it was because I was getting old. I was at an age when most women would have considered their lives over; I was not like that. I was too vitally interested in what was going on. My hatred for my husband was a spur to my vitality. I wanted to live long enough to see what would happen in this battle between him and his family.

I had grown mellow with age—philosophical. That was why I was able to endure my prison and look on life with analytical cynicism. After all, I lived comfortably. I was not treated like a prisoner. Everyone about me remembered that I was Queen. Life was unpredictable. Those who were down one day could be up the next. I never let them forget for a moment who I was; nor did they.

I listened; I absorbed the news, fitting it together as I heard it, like pieces in a puzzle. I had time to consider it and perhaps because of that I was able to make a clearer picture than those who were in the thick of it.

There was always going to be trouble between Henry and his sons. They all had their grievances—young Henry chief among them because he felt the golden crown on his head and could not bear to see his father in possession of it. He did little in Aquitaine except find those who had rebelled against his father. Never far from his mind was the plan to oust his father and rule himself, alone. It was an ambitious plan, the elder Henry being the man he was; but if his son could get the strong battalions on his side, who knew?

I was very shocked to hear how he had treated Adam Churchdown. The man was only doing his duty. Young Henry spent most of his time organizing tournaments—mock battles where his safety was assured and in which he was always the victor because those about him knew that was how he wanted it to be. This would not have been dangerous if the foolish young man had not gone about speaking against his father, plotting with his cronies as to how they could get an army together and take the crown from the old man and put it on the young head where it belonged.

Adam had, in duty bound, found it necessary to report to the King what was happening. Alas for Adam, his letters were intercepted and instead of going to the old King were taken to the young one.

My son should have had more respect for an honorable man. He knew that Adam was his father’s servant. What he did was cruel and foolish. He wanted Adam to be humiliated and ordered that he be stripped naked, paraded through the streets—they were in Poitiers at the time—and whipped as he went.

I was horrified. Henry must have been too. He would never have done such a thing in his wildest rages. He must have despaired and realized that he could never make the king he wanted of his son. He might have been proud of Richard, but Richard had shown little affection for him. All his three elder sons were ready to turn against him.

There was only one, as yet untried because he was so young: John.

He could not say that John had come under my influence. Here was one son whom he might mold as he wished. He sent for John.

From then on, the young boy replaced Henry in his affections. John lacked Henry’s good looks—he was smaller and darker—but he was young and therefore malleable.

The King made plans for his youngest son. The proposed marriage with Humbert’s daughter had come to nothing; but William of Gloucester, one of the richest and most powerful men in England, agreed that his daughter, Hadwisa, should marry John, who would then become heir to all his lands in the west of England and Glamorgan, a considerable inheritance.

John was then declared King of Ireland—John “Lackland” no longer.

Rumors were coming to my ears.

Amaria said: “They say the Princess Alais is very attractive.”

“Yes. I am glad,” I said. “I daresay it will not be long before she marries my son Richard. It is time he had a wife.”

“They say the King is very fond of her.”

“The King!” Something in Amaria’s expression gave me a hint of what she might have heard. “What do you know?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders. “They say that now the Lady Rosamund is dead ... that the King has taken up with the Princess Alais.”

“But she is to be his daughter-in-law.”

“I only know what I hear, my lady.”

I pondered this. Alais ... and Henry. What would Louis have to say? How far had Henry gone in this? Surely he did not think he could seduce a daughter of the King of France as he might such as Rosamund Clifford?

But Henry would never consider such things. Moreover he despised Louis. She was very young. And Richard? What of Richard?

I could see a storm blowing up here.

Each day I hoped for news. It came sparsely. I could not believe how time was passing. Often I asked myself: Was I to spend the rest of my life a prisoner?

Was Henry hoping I would die? I had refused to go to Fontevrault, which would have given him his divorce. Did he want to marry again? Who this time? Alais? How would that affect her betrothal to his son Richard? What did he want to do? Raise a family? He was rather old for that. But I had no doubt that he saw himself as immortal. He would make up his mind that he would not depart this life until he saw his successor ready to take on the burden of kingship and not fritter away all the advantages he had brought to the country.

Our destiny was closely linked with that of France because our sway extended so far over that country. Philip Augustus was growing up. He must be fourteen or fifteen years old. The years of my captivity went by so fast that I lost count of them.

Louis had changed since the birth of the God-Given. He had become more statesmanlike and, after having waited so long and tried so hard, he was especially proud to have provided the heir of the Capetian dynasty.

At this time he decided Philip Augustus should be crowned. One might have thought he would have seen what had happened in Henry’s case. Two kings in one kingdom made a dangerous situation. However, it did happen in France, and it might have been that Philip Augustus was a more docile son; in any case Louis had never valued his kingship as Henry had.

Having been so close to Louis at one time, I was always eager to hear news of him; moreover, what happened to him affected Henry closely. I heard that the coronation was going to take place at Rheims on August 5 of that year 1179.

How unpredictable life is! We make our plans and then Fate decides to change them.

Louis had commanded all the nobles of the land to make their way to the cathedral of Rheims. Philip Augustus led his own party and, as always on such occasions when there was an opportunity to hunt, it was taken with alacrity. This was what happened on the way. Philip Augustus, rather like my son Henry, must have been gratified to think he would soon be crowned King. How could they be so foolish as to put crowns on the heads of young boys and expect to withhold the power that went with them? It might be that it would work in this case, but I had heard recently that Philip Augustus was a boy with a will of his own, and if he had any talent for ruling he would wish to work differently from the way his father had.

He showed his independence on this occasion. They were following the deer in the forest and Philip Augustus naturally decided that his should be the arrow which killed the hunted creature. He spurred on his horse and galloped ahead. His followers, I suppose, understood his desire and, not wanting to offend him, fell back, with the result that in due course they lost sight of him. There was consternation: the heir to the throne of France was lost in the forest.

Meanwhile Philip Augustus rode on. He realized he had lost the quarry, was himself lost and was out of earshot of the hunting party. All was silent in the forest. A mist arose; he was wet and cold. One can imagine his fear among the damp foliage and the tall trees; nature did not care whether he was a peasant or a king about to be crowned. After all the adulation he was accustomed to receive, the indifference of nature must have filled him with apprehension.

He began to feel dizzy and hot. He was not strong and they had had great trouble in raising him. When he was very young, his father had lived in terror that he would lose him.

He went deeper into the forest. He was lost and he was going to be ill. It was getting dark. It would be eerie in the forest and he had been accustomed to having people always around him. Now he was alone, alone in the forest which cared nothing for kings.

I have no doubt that he prayed. Who does not remember God when one’s need is great? I suppose he thought God had answered his prayers when he came upon the charcoal-burners’ hut. They took him into their hovel; they put him by the fire and forced some hot broth between his lips. He was fainting but he was conscious enough to tell them to go at once to the King.

Poor humble people, how bewildered they must have been! But the old man’s son set off, and so well did he carry out his mission that by the next day men came to take Philip Augustus away.