The King sighed. ‘’Tis so,’ he conceded. ‘If it were on grounds of adultery that would not affect my sons. By God’s eyes I doubt I’d have difficulty in proving something against her. Louis could have divorced her for adultery. She took as her lovers her own uncle and a Saracen. Any woman who could do that …’

But for a man to accuse his wife of adultery when he was in bed with his mistress was in a measure ludicrous. Moreover a divorce on such grounds would mean that neither party could marry again. So therefore it was clear that the King was not speaking seriously when he declared he would divorce the Queen.

Rosamund was uneasy. She supposed that there must come a time in the life of any woman in her position when she must ask herself what her future would be. Rosamund was not concerned with her material future. She knew that the King, even if he ceased to be in love with her, would always provide for her and their sons. It was not that which worried her.

With everyone else Rosamund had shuddered at the news of Becket’s murder. She knew how deeply the King had been involved with the man. Many were the times when he had come to her distraught, angry, sad – and all because of Thomas à Becket. He had talked to her often as though he were talking to himself … he would ramble on sometimes about the great friendship they had shared and at others the hundred ways Thomas had found to plague him. Once he had said: ‘There’ll be no peace for me while Thomas à Becket is Archbishop of Canterbury. I would to God I were rid of the man.’

When she had heard that Thomas had been killed she could not get those words out of her mind. And she kept seeing Henry on those occasions when he had given vent to his rage against the Archbishop. Then he had frightened her with the violence of his fury and only her loving solicitude had prevented his giving way to it. She soothed him at such times by agreeing with him, offering him sympathy, making him realise that whatever he said, whatever he did, she believed him to be right.

And now … Becket.

She could not stop thinking of him. She had heard what had happened at the Cathedral after the death. How pilgrims were already visiting the place, the sick and maimed. They believed that if they kissed the stones on which his blood had been shed they would be blessed and perhaps cured of their sins.

For once she could not say to herself or to the King: You were right in what you did.

Thomas à Becket was between them.

He sensed the change in her. It frustrated him, put a barrier between them. She smiled and was as gracious and loving as ever; he was as ardent; but something had changed in their relationship and they were both aware of it.

There was not the same comfort with Rosamund as there had been.

In the palace at Westminster he visited the nursery. There were only the two youngest of his children there at this time – Joanna in her seventh year and John in his sixth. The fact that he had just made a marriage contract for his youngest son had awakened his interest in him and he wanted to tell the little fellow about his good fortune.

When he strode into the nursery a hushed awe fell upon the place; the nurses and attendants curtsied to the floor and the children watched in wonder. Henry cast a quick glance over the females – a habit which never left him – to see if any of them were worthy of his passing attention; and perhaps because his mind was busy with the change in Rosamund, or perhaps because he was not greatly impressed by any of them, he dismissed them.

The children were looking at a picture book and with them was a girl of some eleven or twelve years. They all rose. The two girls curtsied and young John bowed.

What a pleasant trio. The King felt his mood changing as he surveyed them. His son John was a pretty creature and so was his daughter. In grace and beauty though he had to admit that their companion surpassed them.

He remembered suddenly who she was. Of course she was Alice, daughter of the King of France, and she was being brought up here because she was betrothed to his son Richard.

‘I trust you are pleased to see me,’ said the King.

John smiled; Joanna looked alarmed but Alice replied: ‘It gives us great pleasure, my lord.’

He laid his hand on her soft curling hair.

‘And do you know who I am, little one?’

‘You are the King,’ she answered.

‘Our father,’ added John.

‘You are right,’ said Henry. ‘I have come to see how you are all getting on in your nursery. Come, Joanna, it is time for you to speak.’

‘We get on well, my lord,’ murmured the little girl shyly.

He picked her up and kissed her. Children were charming. Then he picked up John and did the same. When he set him down he looked at Alice. She blushed slightly. ‘And you, my lady,’ he said, ‘I must offer you like treatment, must I not?’

He lifted her in his arms. Her face was close to his. The texture of children’s skin was so fine, so soft. Even beauties like Rosamund could not compare with them. It gave him great pleasure to hold this beautiful child in his arms. He kissed her soft cheek, but he did not put her down. He went on holding her. He looked into her eyes so beautifully set. Richard, he thought, you have a prize in this one. The idea of monk-like Louis siring such a perfect little creature amused him.

John and Joanna were looking up at him. He held Alice against him and kissed her again, this time on the mouth.

‘You kiss Alice more than you kiss us,’ said John.

Henry put the girl down. ‘Well, she is our guest so we must make sure she knows she is welcome.’

‘Is Alice our guest then?’ asked John. ‘They say she is our sister.’

‘She is to be your sister and she is our guest.’ He took one of her ringlets and curled it round his finger. ‘And I want her to know that there was never a more welcome one in my kingdom. What say you to that, little Alice?’

She said: ‘My lord is good.’

He knelt down, feigning to hear her better, but in fact to put his face closer to her own.

‘I like you well,’ he said; and he patted her face and his hands went to her shoulders and moved over her childish unformed body.

He stood up.

‘Now I will sit down and you shall tell me how you progress in your lessons.’ He looked at John whose expression had become a little woebegone.

‘Well, well, my son,’ he said, for his spirits were higher than they had been since he had heard of Becket’s death, ‘we’ll not go too far into the subject if it is not a pleasant one, for this is an occasion for rejoicing.’

He took Alice’s hand in one of his and Joanna’s in the other and led the way to the window. He seated himself there. John leaned against one knee and Joanna against the other. ‘Come, Alice, my dear child,’ he said, and drawing her between his knees held her close to him. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we are a friendly party. John, my son, I have come to see you because I have some good news for you.’

‘For me, my lord,’ cried John starting to leap up and down.

‘You must not do that,’ said Joanna.

‘Oh, we will let him express a little joy, daughter,’ said the King, ‘for it is a most joyful matter. I have a bride for him.’

‘A bride,’ said John. ‘What is that?’

‘He is too young to understand,’ said Alice.

‘Of course,’ said the King tenderly stroking her arm. ‘But you are not, my little one. You have been betrothed have you not … to my son Richard?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Alice.

‘You are too young as yet to go to him,’ went on the King and was amazed at the relief he felt. It would be unendurable to allow this beautiful child to go to some bumbling boy. Richard of course was handsome, but he was too young yet.

‘It will be soon though,’ said Alice.

‘No,’ said the King firmly. ‘There is some time yet.’