The King of England had said in that little homily he had given him when they last met that he wished to be regarded as the young King’s father. So at this time Philip Augustus turned to Henry in his need.

Henry was not displeased. In his shrewd way he saw that the Count of Flanders could be a menace to him also and he wanted to subdue him. Ostensibly he sent his sons to aid the French but in fact their duty was to guard their father’s dominions.

Philip Augustus was delighted. He was already on good terms with young Henry; he was glad to welcome Geoffrey; but Richard was the one who delighted him. Richard had military genius, and men were beginning to fear and respect him, which was a great asset in a battle. Richard’s tenor voice was a joy to hear in song, and he played the lute like the true musician he was. Richard had begun to mean a good deal to Philip Augustus.

He wanted Richard always with him. They sat side by side at table. It was the delight of Philip Augustus to share the same plate with his friend. They laughed and joked together, and soon they were sharing the same bed.

With Richard’s troubadours had come a certain Bernard de Borne. He was a great poet and musician and compared with Bernard de Ventadour; and just as Philip Augustus had no eyes for anyone but Richard, Bernard de Borne was taken with young Henry.

The appearance of my two sons was outstanding in the extreme, and Bernard de Borne wrote verses extolling Henry’s good looks and charm and attributed to him in verse the daring exploits which I am sure Henry often imagined himself performing. He was delighted with the poet and they became great friends.

Henry was not a young man to form attachments with his own sex—unlike Richard in this respect. Henry, like his father, had a keen interest in women, but this was different. Bernard de Borne knew how to flatter, and flattery was something Henry had never been able to resist.

The poet was well aware that the people of Aquitaine did not want Richard. His military skills did not appeal to an essentially peace-loving people who wanted their comforts more than anything else. His methods would never please them, and it must have occurred to de Borne that Henry would be a more suitable ruler. As he was my son, and continually complaining that his father withheld all power from him, why should he not seize Aquitaine?

It would be a simple matter to insert that idea into Henry’s mind. My poor foolish son was constantly hoping that that glory which he was unable to win by his own efforts would fall into his hands.

If only young Henry had been content to walk in his father’s shadow and to learn from him! If only Geoffrey had not been such a troublemaker; if only Richard could have understood my people of Aquitaine; if only Henry and I could have lived in amity—between us all we could have ruled over peaceful dominions. But it seemed it was not to be so. The Angevins were a quarrelsome brood. Sometimes I thought that story of their having descended from the Devil was true.

Young Henry therefore saw himself as the ruler of Aquitaine. I was sure he thought he could show his father how the people appreciated him.

De Borne was able to do a great deal with his writing; he was also a persuasive talker. He persuaded the people of Limoges that under Henry there would be a return to the old rule; the elder brother would understand them; there would be tournaments, jousting, a return to the old way of life. As a result, when Henry rode into Limoges, the people cheered him; they acclaimed him as their new ruler.

Meanwhile the King, having sorted out his affairs with Philip Augustus, turned his attention to Aquitaine. He knew that Richard was having trouble. He sent for Geoffrey. Geoffrey was not so much a soldier as a diplomat. He had a plausible manner and a tactful way with words. He was the one to help Richard, Henry decided, and he sent him out to talk to the troublemakers and counteract Richard’s somewhat abrasive manner.

How mistaken Henry always was in his sons! He did not know Geoffrey, who loved nothing more than to stir up trouble. Arriving in Aquitaine, he was met by Henry and Bernard de Borne, who told him that the people were preparing to rise and oust Richard, taking Henry as their ruler. Geoffrey, who was as jealous of Richard’s military glory as Henry was, decided to come down on Henry’s side.

I cannot imagine what would have happened if the King had not decided to go to Aquitaine and sort things out for himself.

Face to face with his father, young Henry’s courage fled. He dared not tell him that he had been proclaimed Duke in Limoges. They marched together to Poitiers, where they were met by Richard.

What the people of Aquitaine must have thought, I cannot imagine. All I knew was that with the coming of the King order was restored. I think young Henry must have been very worried indeed for sooner or later his father must discover what he had been doing. He was so weak. Sometimes I was fearful, thinking of what would happen to England when he was its King. It would be a return to the days of Stephen, and doubtless his brothers would be plotting to take the crown from him. The King must not die ... not yet ... until Henry had reached a state of maturity which, in my heart, I feared he never would.

He was saved from the discovery of his foolish perfidy by my daughter Matilda.

Matilda was in deep trouble and was leaving Saxony for the protection of her father. Her marriage to Henry the Lion had been a happy one domestically but there was always trouble in the German states.

Henry the Lion had been quarreling for some time with his first cousin, the powerful German Emperor Frederick, and a year or so before, after a great deal of conflict between them, Duke Henry had been condemned by diet at Wrzburg to forfeit all his lands. Naturally he refused. Hence the Emperor laid siege to Brunswick, where Henry and Matilda were living.

Matilda already had three children: Richenza and two boys, Henry and Otto, and she was pregnant at the time of the siege. The Emperor, in a chivalrous gesture when he heard of her plight, sent her a tun of wine and raised the siege. Whether he did this for altruistic reasons or whether it was because Matilda was the daughter of the most formidable soldier in Europe, I am not sure. It might have been a little of each.

In due course Matilda gave birth to Lothair.

But this time Henry the Lion realized the hopelessness of his position. Fearing the power of the Emperor, his followers deserted him and he was left with no alternative but to accept the Emperor’s terms. These were harsh. He was to be banished from Germany for seven years, and during that time he must have the Emperor’s permission if he wished to visit his country; only a few possessions were left to him—Brunswick, Luneburg, Hanover, Zell and Wolfenbttel which, though considerable, were a small part of what he had previously owned.

King Henry had been watching affairs in Germany closely and he came to the assistance of his son-in-law. The Emperor had no wish to quarrel with one as powerful as the King of England, and he agreed that the period be reduced to four years and that the King’s daughter, Matilda, should be allowed to remain in Brunswick with her children. The choice was hers. She might live in freedom on the estates left to her family, or if she wished to go with her husband, stewards would be appointed to look after her property. Matilda chose to follow her husband.

Thus it was that at this time, when my son Henry was in a precarious position, wondering whether his father would discover his perfidy toward his brother, this diversion arose to turn the King’s thoughts from Aquitaine.

Little Lothair was too young to undertake the journey, and he must be left for a while, but Henry the Lion, with Matilda and the three children, Richenza, Henry and Otto, set out for Normandy.

The King met them there. He was deeply touched to be reunited with his daughter. He had such plans for his sons but I think it was his daughters who brought him the most joy.

Almost as soon as they arrived, Matilda’s husband, overcome with humiliation because of what had happened to him, decided he must go on a pilgrimage to St. James of Compostela, who was at this time the most popular of all the saints; pilgrims from all over Europe were going to visit his shrine. There were springing up inns all along the road to Compostela, and whether or not the saint answered the prayers of those who prayed at his shrine, he certainly provided prosperity for the innkeepers.

There were great preparations for his departure, and before he left Matilda was pregnant again.

I do believe that for a short time at Argentan the King forgot his troubles and gave himself up to his grandchildren, in whom he found great pleasure. Matilda told me about it afterward. She herself was surprised. The grandchildren adored him. It was amazing, said Matilda, to see Richenza climbing all over him, and the boys shouting with glee as he played war games with them. When he told them about the battles in which he had fought, they listened in silent awe; he wanted to spend as much time with them as he possibly could, and for once he forgot his dominions.

I could never feel indifferent about Henry. I could hate him fiercely. Who would not hate a husband who had kept her incarcerated for years? But I understood him. He had to keep me incarcerated, for how did he know what I would do if I were free? I was sorry for him in a way as I was not for myself. My captivity had given me time for reflection. My mind had always been too active for it to become sluggish. Here I was removed from events, looking in from the outside and finding it all fascinating. I was not one to sit down and weep for my misfortunes. I could see many sides to every question and, because I was so interested in people, I could understand their motives and realize that from their point of view they were in the right.