‘What know you of Rosamund Clifford?’ he asked.

‘Oh, not as much as you, I admit. But I did discover the lady’s bower.’

‘Who took you there?’

‘You, my lord, with your little skein of silk.’

‘What nonsense is this!’

‘No nonsense. The pretty lady’s skein of silk was attached to your spur. I found it and trailed you there...or almost. Yesterday I paid a call on her. She did not welcome me as eagerly as she must welcome you.’

‘You went there!’

‘What a haven! And two fine boys too! Henry, what a man you are for getting boys on harlots! I declare your reputation will soon be that of your grandfather and mine.’

‘So you have discovered this.’

‘Yes, indeed. You are found out.’

‘Know this. I will do as I will.’

‘We all know that, my King. But while you may do as you will with low-born maidens, you may not with the Queen of England and Duchess of Aquitaine.’

Henry laughed but it was not pleasant laughter.

‘You should know me well enough by now to realise that I will not be told what I must do by those two.’

‘Neither of them will tolerate a mistress here in the palace even though she is hidden in a maze. You fool, Henry, did you think you could keep the woman’s existence a secret from me forever?’

‘I did not and I care not.’

‘Yet you did not wish me to know.’

‘I thought it kinder to you not to know.’

‘Do you think I want your kindness? Do you think I shall fret because you have a mistress or two?’

‘Nay, you are too wise. You know full well that if I want a woman I will have her.’

‘How long has this one been your mistress?’

‘Suffice it that she is.’

‘You have a special fondness for this one, eh?’

‘I have.’

‘She is as a wife to you, is she?’

‘She is.’

‘And you would to God she were.’

He looked at her steadily. ‘I would to God she were.’

She struck at him; he caught her hand and threw her from him.

‘You she-wolf,’ he said.

‘And you are the lion. Henry the Lion, King of the Forest.

But forget not the she-wolf has her fangs.’

‘If she dares show them to me or mine they will be torn from her. Doubt that not. And know this. If you harm Rosamund Clifford I will kill you.’

‘All Aquitaine would revolt against you if you dared.’

‘Do I care for Aquitaine? I will subdue Aquitaine as I have all my territories. Do you forget that I am the King and master of you all...every one of you. Don’t be a fool, Eleanor. You are the Queen. Does that not suffice? You have borne my heirs. We have a nursery full of them. Four fine boys. Henry will be King to follow me – your son. Is that not enough?’

‘No. It is not enough. I will not have you sport with your mistress a stone’s throw from the palace. She must go. Get rid of her.’

‘I’d liefer get rid of you.’

‘If you go back to that woman I never want to share your bed again.’

‘So be it,’ he said. ‘You are no longer young. There are others who please me far more.’

She struck out at him as she had done before but he seized her and threw her on to the bed. In the old days there would have been a rising of sexual passion on such occasions. Not now. There was now hatred for her. It was clear to her that the two youngest children, Joanna and John, had come into being through custom or the need of a king to get as many children as he could to ensure the succession.

Suddenly she felt defeated. She was an ageing woman. She had lived an adventurous life; she had had her lovers, but that was over now. She still had power though. She was still ruler of Aquitaine. In that fair land her troubadours still sang to her beauty. She had a great desire then to be there.

‘I am going to Aquitaine,’ she said.

‘Your people are ever glad to have you with them,’ answered the King. ‘It is well that you should go. They grow restive when their Duchess is not among them.’

‘I will take Richard with me and young Marguerite.’

Her anger had left her. He would be free to dally with Rosamund Clifford. Perhaps now he need not keep her in her secret house – unless the lady was coy.

Eleanor had discovered the secret of Woodstock and it had brought to her some understanding of herself. The King was tired of her. He no longer loved her. She was merely the mother of his children and the ruler of Aquitaine. Let her go. He would be free of her. Let him alone that he might give himself to those two passions which consumed him – his love for Rosamund Clifford and his battle with Thomas Becket.

As she knew she would, Eleanor found her children at their books. Matilda, the eldest daughter, was a year older than Richard who with his fair good looks and elegant figure was her favourite. It was not only his charm and good looks which made him so, but the fact that his father seemed to dislike him. Why? Because Richard more than the others resented the intrusion into their circle of the bastard Geoffrey – and Henry knew that more than anything on earth Eleanor loved this son.

She loved his brother Geoffrey too, and when she came into their quarters and called his name there was never any confusion because of that other. She never spoke to him if she could help it and if she was ever obliged to she never looked at him when she spoke and never called him by a name.

Richard called him Geoffrey the Bastard. There had been many a fight between them. She suspected that the sly little bastard complained to his father about the unkindness of Richard.

Her son Geoffrey was beautiful. Strangely enough he had inherited the looks of his grandfather of the same name, Geoffrey of Anjou who had been known as Geoffrey the Fair. There was little Eleanor, too young as yet to show much character, adoring Richard because he was by his very nature the leader.

Joanna and baby John were too young to join the schoolroom but John was already showing signs of having inherited the famous Angevin temper. Rarely, she was sure, had a child screamed so much when he was displeased as Master John.

As she watched them in those few seconds before they were aware of her, she was overwhelmed by her emotions.

She had always been fond of children. Even her two daughters by Louis had been important to her during their early life. It was difficult for a Queen who had so many calls upon her time to be as much with her children as a humbler mother might have been – and in the days of her marriage to Louis she had craved adventure because she had been so bored with her marriage.

She had never been bored with Henry. Now that she hated him, for she was sure she did, he could still arouse in her an emotion which was far from boredom. She was of a nature to prefer hatred to ennui.

Richard looked up and saw her. The pleasure in his eyes compensated her for the King’s contempt of her. Henry might find her ageing, no longer an inspiration to love, but Richard loved her with a love which did not depend on years. He was her beloved son; there was an understanding between them. They were all ies against the King, for Richard was fully aware that for some reason his father did not like him.

Richard rose from the table and ran to her. He knelt and kissed her hands.

‘Mother,’ he said, raising his beautiful eyes to hers.

‘My dearest boy,’ she answered, and her son Geoffrey was already clamouring for attention.

She thought: They love me. They truly love me. Is it like this when the King comes to their schoolroom?

Geoffrey the Bastard stood up and bowed stiffly. She looked past him as though she were unaware of his existence.

Another child had come into the room. This was Marguerite, the little French Princess, who was married to Henry and was now being brought up in the royal household. Marguerite curtseyed to the Queen and greeted her in her pretty accent.

Eleanor drew them all about her and asked questions about their lessons. They answered eagerly, but Richard was the cleverest she noticed with satisfaction.