There was one man whom he had wronged and whom the King valued. He desperately wanted to see that man.

William Marshal was in Aquitaine and could come to him quickly. After he had sent for him, Henry dispatched a messenger to his father begging him to come to him.

After two attempts on his life, the King was wary. His attitude had changed. He was no longer deluding himself about his eldest son. Henry had exposed himself too obviously for further deceit to succeed. This time the King listened to his advisers, who were sure that this was another attempt to do that in which he had twice failed.

William Marshal did go to Henry’s bedside, but by his time the fever had taken a firmer hold on him.

I did hear later what he said to William. William had been a friend of his childhood; they had been close until the Count of Flanders had sown suspicion in Henry’s mind about Marshal and Marguerite. He told William that he knew his end was near. He had been possessed by devils and feared eternal damnation. He blamed his ancestress, the witch. “We Plantagenets are the Devil’s spawn,” he said. “We came from the Devil and we shall go back to the Devil.” William begged him to repent of his sins.

He was happier when a messenger came back with a ring from his father. The King did not trust him sufficiently to come himself but he was still his father and he did want his son to know that in spite of everything he still cared for him. They told me how Henry’s ring had comforted him.

William Marshal had arranged for the Bishop of Cahors to come to the house where Henry was staying. He begged William to remain with him. By his bed was a crusader’s cross which he had stolen from one of the tombs. He swore that if he lived he would take the cross to Jerusalem and place it on the Holy Sepulcher. He had written to his father. He had lied to him so many times; he had cheated and betrayed him. He wanted as many wrongs put right as there possibly could be. Would the King restore what he had stolen as far as he could? Would he look after Marguerite? He sent a message to me, too. He thought of me often. He had longed to see me, and he had begged the King to be more tender toward me.

Henry implored William Marshal to take the cross and if ever he went to Jerusalem to place it on the shrine in the name of the young King Henry.

He ordered that a bed of ashes be prepared, with a stone for a pillow; he wanted to wear a hairshirt. Then he declared himself the most wicked of sinners. He lay on his bed of discomfort for several hours, and it seemed that there he found a certain peace.

His repentance was complete.

And thus he died.

I would think of him as I had seen him in my dream. My poor, foolish son. I hope he found more contentment in death than he had in life.

Last Days at Chinon

HENRY MOURNED DEEPLY. HE had so loved his eldest son. I knew he would be thinking of that handsome boy; he would be remembering all the glorious plans he had made for him; all had come to nothing.

And on his deathbed, with his sins heavy upon him, he had thought of his mother.

I was sure Henry wondered why my children loved me so much more than they loved him. But he did remember young Henry’s words. Richard had reviled him for his treatment of me: Henry on his deathbed had pleaded that I be treated with more kindness. Henry could not ignore one of his son’s last requests, so I received a visit from the Archdeacon of Wells.

He respectfully told me that he had come on the King’s behalf and that I was to prepare to leave Salisbury for Winchester. This I should be happy to do, I told him. I preferred Winchester.

“The King wishes me to say that much will depend on your behavior at Winchester. The King thinks that it would be well for you to be with your daughter, the Duchess of Saxony, at the time of her confinement.”

My heart leaped with joy. To be with my dear daughter. I could hardly contain my delight. This was surely due to my son’s deathbed request.

“The King thinks you may need garments, and he is arranging for some to be sent to you.”

I was exultant. The end of my imprisonment must be in sight. Should I be invited to Court? What excitement that would be! What was Alais thinking? I should not mind being at a Court where my husband’s mistress was. After all, I was the Queen. I should find it very amusing. I should be plunged once more into intrigue. What a pleasure not to have to rely on hearsay.

And to be with my dearest Matilda, to watch over her while she was waiting for her child!

A hamper of clothes came. Delicious red velvet. I handled the soft materials, loving the feel of them. How I had missed my beautiful clothes over all these years!

My women crowded around me. Amaria was so delighted for me, and the prettiest of them all who waited on me, Belle, whom we called Bellebelle, danced with joy. They would all love going to Court.

We were moving too fast, I told them. I was not yet released.

I stroked the white fur which lined the cloak and thought of facing Henry. How would he look after all these years? How would I look to him? I had taken care of myself and had not allowed my imprisonment to cause me undue anxiety. I had been shut away from the world, so he thought, but I had managed to keep myself aware of what was happening. The years had been kind to me as far as my appearance was concerned.

Should I see them all again? Most of all I wanted to see Richard, I wanted to talk to him about his father’s intrigue with his intended bride. But of course Richard would not have her now. There would be no compromise with Richard. It was either Yea or Nay, and as far as Alais was concerned it was most definitely Nay. What a joy it would be to see him! A boy no longer. A great soldier. And there was something else. He was now heir to the throne of England. What did Henry think of that? How I should love to know.

Well, I should soon be seeing and hearing at first hand all those things for which for so long I had had to rely on others.

Matilda was at Winchester, eagerly awaiting my arrival. We stood for a moment looking at each other. This was my daughter who had been a child when I had last seen her, and now she was twenty-eight years old, a wife and a mother who had endured much suffering.

There was no ceremony between us. We ran together and were in each other’s arms.

“My dearest child,” I cried.

“Oh ... my mother ...”

We held each other at arms’ length and stared eagerly.

“You are beautiful still,” she said. “I remembered always how beautiful you were. I expected to find ...”

“An old woman? I am an old woman ... but I try to forget it. That is the best way. I will not admit that. I am not an old woman to myself, and therefore I can pass for being younger than my years.”

I looked at her anxiously. She was heavily pregnant and looked tired. She told me that the journey from Normandy had been exhausting in her condition but her father had wanted the child to be born in England.

“Besides,” she added with the lovely smile I remembered so well, “it means that we can be together.”

There was so much to talk about during those days.

She told me of her life in Saxony, of how she had at first been impressed by her husband’s power. She described the ducal palace in front of which rose the column of Lwenstein at whose top was a great lion made of brass. It had been put there because her husband was known as Henry the Lion. He had received the title, a story ran, because when he was in the Holy Land he had watched a fight between a lion and a serpent; the lion was getting the worst of the combat, so Henry destroyed the serpent and the lion was grateful to him and became his companion, always at his side.

“Was it true?” I asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Did you not discover from your husband?”

“He liked us all to believe it was true, but I could never say for sure.”

“Men like to preserve legends about themselves,” I commented.

“Henry wanted to make Brunswick the most beautiful city in the Empire,” she told me. “He built a magnificent church. I helped him in this. We planned to be buried there side by side. Who knows now?”

“Burials are a dismal subject,” I said, “and now we are together after all these years let us not be dismal.”

I learned a great deal about her life: the joy she had in her children and how she missed little Lothair, who had had to stay behind in Brunswick; she looked forward to the birth of another little one.

The quarrel with the Emperor Frederick had been their undoing. He wanted all the governors of the Saxon towns to accept him as their overlord. She had discovered his intentions while Henry was on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and she had sent a messenger to him to tell him of her fears. They were anxious days until Henry returned. Before he had left he had built Der Hagen, a hunting park, for her.

“I always remembered Woodstock,” she said. “I wanted to make a Woodstock there. Der Hagen was not quite the same, but I used to go to the hunting lodge there and think of England while I was waiting for Henry to come back. I thought a great deal of England, and it seemed a kind of haven to me then. But you know of our trouble and our exile.”

“I am glad of one thing,” I said. “It brought you here. Do not speak of it though. It makes you sad. Here you are and we are together. Let us be happy for a while.”

“And all this time, dear Mother, you have been a prisoner, my father your jailer.”

I laughed. “Don’t pity me, dearest child, for I do not pity myself—though sometimes the cold stones of Salisbury seem to seep into my bones. But I kept myself warm and I had good friends about me. My dear Amaria has been a great comfort over the years; little Bellebelle amuses me, and there are the other women too. They bring me news. I have enjoyed piecing it all together. It has been like a great picture puzzle to me, and I think that being apart from events I have perhaps been able to see them more clearly. I know so well all the actors in the drama, it is as though I sit before a stage watching their performances.”