‘Nay, my love, longer than that. Arthur is well protected. His faithful squire sleeps across his door. ’Tis necessary while John is here.’

‘I wish he would go away.’

‘Then he would be somewhere else plotting against Arthur.’

‘At least he would not be so near him.’

‘Nay. ’Tis better he were where we can keep an eye on him. We will continue watchful. Never for one moment will we allow Arthur to be alone with him.’

‘Yet in the forest …’

‘He is always followed. I have seen to that. John but seeks to plague us. He would not allow harm to come to Arthur when it was known that they had been together. The people of Brittany would kill him before he had time to escape and Richard would not forgive him. He knows full well that that would be the end of his hopes.’

‘Life is so cruel,’ said Constance vehemently. She was thinking of her brief life with Geoffrey – perhaps it had not been idyllic but Geoffrey had been young and handsome and had a certain charm and it had resulted in her two children Eleanor and Arthur; it was after his death the nightmare had begun. Ranulf! She shuddered at the thought. What right had the King of England to give her to a man she loathed because it suited him to do so? That had been no marriage. She had fought desperately against its consummation and had quickly escaped from Ranulf, and the people of Brittany had rallied round her and she had had four years when she had governed the dukedom, and cared for Arthur, bringing him up in the way she wished him to go. Alas, Ranulf had after that time captured her and kept her a prisoner in his castle of St Jean Beveron but not before, with the help of good friends, she had been able to send Arthur out of harm’s way to the Court of the King of France.

It was the good people of Brittany who had helped to release her from her prison and fearing that the King of France might use Arthur to gain his own advantage, she had him brought back to her and thus they were together again; but never for a moment must Constance forget how important her son was to the affairs of Europe. There was the King of France on one hand and the King of England on the other, both seeking to use him against each other; but the real enemy was John – the uncle in whose way he could possibly stand, for in the minds of some people Arthur was a step ahead of him in the succession to the throne.

‘I almost wish Arthur were not his father’s heir,’ said Constance. ‘There are times when I wish we could go away together … you, I and my children, and forget Arthur’s inheritance.’

‘Do you really wish that, Constance?’ Guy asked wistfully.

And she could not answer truthfully because Arthur was her son and her love mingled with her ambitions for him. Arthur could be King of England and she could not forget that.

‘If Arthur were safe on the throne of England, in command of possessions here, if he were a few years older …’

‘While Richard lives, the boy is safe. No harm will come to him. Come, my love, forget your troubles. The boy is safe. None could be more carefully guarded.’

‘All the same,’ said Constance, ‘we will be wary of John.’


When John left Constance he went into the schoolroom where Arthur sat with his tutor. The boy’s fair head was bent over his books and John was amused to see how alert the tutor had become since his entry.

‘Ah, nephew,’ said John breezily. ‘I find you at your study. That is good. A boy can never learn too much. Is that not so, my good man?’

The tutor had risen. He bowed to John and replied that learning was an admirable asset to all.

‘Then we are in one mind.’ He nodded. ‘I wish to be alone with my nephew,’ he added.

The man had no recourse but to leave; but he would not go far, John thought with a smirk of amusement. His orders would have been: keep near and send word that Prince John is alone with the young Duke; and someone would be at hand to make sure no harm came to Arthur. He would do his best to lead them a merry dance.

‘Such a beautiful day,’ said John. ‘Not one to be poring over books.’

‘Lessons must be learned,’ said Arthur.

‘What a model pupil you are! I never was. I preferred the hunt and the good fresh air to poring over books.’

‘I can well believe that,’ replied Arthur. Insolent young dog, thought John with a sudden uprush of temper. Be careful, he advised himself. It’s necessary to play the good uncle here.

Arthur went on: ‘My mother thinks that I must spend much time in study and so did the King of France.’

‘I’ll warrant you and young Louis had good sport together.’

‘We hunted, we fenced and studied the art of chivalry …’

‘All that a prince should know, I’ll warrant – and more also. Come, we will go and ride together, eh … just the two of us.’ He said that very loudly for the sake of the listening tutor. Now there would be panic.

Like most young people Arthur loved to feel a horse beneath him; he had inherited the Plantagenet love of the chase from his father; and although he did not like his uncle – and being young and a little arrogant and well aware of his importance, he made little effort to hide the fact – he could not resist the suggestion that they should ride.

‘Come. Let us go.’

Arthur stood up. He was going to be tall and good-looking, resembling his late uncle Henry, who was the best-looking of all the sons of Henry II. His sojourn at the Court of France had had its effect on him; his manners were courtly and he wore his clothes with grace. The haughtiness was there, though; there was no doubt that Arthur was well aware of his importance.

They rode out side by side, their followers around them.

Constance, with Guy beside her, watched them from a castle window.

Guy said: ‘Don’t be afraid. There are trusted men with them.’

‘You know what he does. He contrives to get him away. Why?’

‘Because he finds great joy in torturing you.’

‘He’s a monster.’

‘I have heard that said of him.’

‘I would to God he would go away.’

‘He cannot stay here for ever. But when he goes let us not slacken our care. It may well be that Arthur is safer while he is here, for if aught happened to Arthur then he would be immediately blamed.’

‘I wish he would break his neck.’

‘I doubt you are not the only one who prays for that happy event. Nay, my love, do not fret, Arthur is with his friends and they will watch over him. This is for John a light diversion. One of his greatest delights is to frighten people and that is what he hopes to do now.’

‘A thousand curses on him.’

‘Amen,’ said Guy.


How pleasant it was in the forest. The boy’s face was alight with his love of the chase. John noted the clearness of his eyes and the freshness of his skin. He was too healthy to please his uncle.

A boy … nothing more. Twelve years old and to stand so much in his way! The people of England would never accept him, but over here they would. Normandy, Anjou … oh yes, they would be ready enough. And the King of France would doubtless like to see a minor on the throne of England and if he threw in his lot with Arthur …

When he thought of that his temper started to rise and he must keep it in check to a certain extent. Moreover, it hadn’t happened yet. Richard still lived.

They gave chase to a fine buck. Hunting was exciting; he loved the way in which the frightened animal fled; he liked the killing not to be accomplished too quickly. That took the fun out of hunting.

There was no chance on this occasion to get Arthur alone; no sooner had he eluded one than another rider seemed to appear. Madame Constance had given her orders. ‘Never leave Arthur out of sight when he is with his uncle John.’

He laughed aloud. He guessed Constance was now in a fever of anxiety and so would she remain until they returned to the castle. They would dally just to keep her in suspense.

The buck was slain; the bearer would take it to the castle.

Arthur shouted: ‘We go back now. I have had enough.’

You have had enough, my little nephew? thought John. What of your uncle?

John said: ‘’Tis such a pleasant day. Who knows, there may be another buck finer than the one we have captured lurking near.’

‘Nay,’ said Arthur. ‘My mother cares not for me to be away too long.’

‘Oh, but on this occasion she knows you are in the care of good Uncle John.’

Arthur was too young to dissemble. He opened his blue eyes very wide and began: ‘Oh, but …’ He stopped.

‘Yes, nephew?’ said John coaxingly.

‘’Tis nothing,’ replied Arthur. ‘I have had enough of the chase, though. I wish to see my mother’s delight when she sees the buck.’

‘We will not go yet,’ said John. ‘Such a fine young fellow has no wish to be governed by women.’

John spurred his horse and started to ride away, certain that Arthur after such a gibe would follow. Arthur shouted after him: ‘This is not women. It is my mother,’ and galloped off in another direction.

‘Curse him,’ muttered John. ‘The young coxcomb. I’d like to whip him till the blood flowed.’

But there was nothing he could do. His own followers, knowing well from past experience that Arthur’s departure would mean that the Angevin temper was on the rise, were aware how wise it was not to be too near their master. A cut of the whip could leave a life-long scar as a reminder of an ill-chosen word or action.

John rode off, his men a little distance from him, muttering curses against Arthur, the boy, the chit, who might easily stand between him and his ambitions.

It was dusk when he returned to the castle. He was in an ill mood. The groom hurried to attend to him and as he came from the stables he saw a man standing in the shadows. He paused. The man appeared to be a beggar and one of the contradictory characteristics of the violent Plantagenet Prince was that he was noted for his goodness to beggars. He rarely passed one without giving a coin which was strange for, although he spent lavishly on himself, he was known to be parsimonious with others. But a coin or so to a beggar was little compared with the gratitude it produced and he enjoyed distributing largesse to these people and earning their thanks. It was a cheap way of winning approval and one he rarely resisted.