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father does not entertain a king every day and one who will be his son-in-law. Why, he must be as old as Father himself. Is that not odd? A son-in-law as old as his father-in-law.’
    â€˜I doubt not it has been so, many times before.’
    â€˜Oh, yes, old men like to marry young girls. I wonder what it will be like, Adelicia, married to an old man.’
    â€˜They say he is young for his years.’
    â€˜But what years! Fifty-two years of age! Oh, Adelicia.’
    Adelicia did not answer.
    â€˜They say women like him, and he likes women well. So there is little doubt that he will be fond of you.’
    â€˜I shall hope to please him.’
    â€˜You will. You know you are very beautiful, Adelicia.’
    â€˜Let us hope that he will think so.’
    â€˜He’ll be blind if he does not. They say it is time he married for so much does he love women he will get more and more bastards if he does not.’
    Adelicia said sternly: ‘You talk with impropriety.’
    â€˜I speak the truth, sister. Listen. Do you hear horses?’ She was at the window. ‘It is! I believe it is! Look at the standard!’
    Adelicia needed no admonition to look. She could not take her eyes from the riders; they came nearer and she clearly saw the man at the head of them. He was by no means young – had she expected him to be? – but he was not ill-favoured.
    Nearer and nearer they came.
    There was tension throughout the castle, the sound of running feet and voices shouting to each other.
    â€˜It is the King of England.’
    The drawbridge was lowered. Adelicia saw her mother in the courtyard; in her hand the great goblet which was brought out for only the most honoured visitors. The Duke stood beside her. And there was the King of England seated on his horse, looking noble and big in his armour, taking the cup of cheer and welcome from her mother; and her father himself held the King’s stirrup while he dismounted.
    So the King of England came to the castle of the Duke of Louvaine.
    Her women dressed her with greatest care, chattering as they did so. They put on her long blue gown with the hanging sleeves and the beautiful embroidered band which she had wrought herself, around the long skirt; they combed her long hair and she wore it flowing about her shoulders. Never had she looked so beautiful, whispered her women.
    Her mother came to the chamber to take her down to thebanqueting hall and there in an antechamber she came face to face with her future husband.
    He was less tall than he had seemed from below. He was of medium height and broad-chested; his plentiful black hair was flecked with white; there was a steadiness about his gaze which was comforting. He looked younger than his fifty-two years and there was a charm about him which was reassuring.
    Certainly he was not the bridegroom of her dreams; how could he be, this ageing widower? But he was less forbidding than the picture her tortured imagination had conjured up, and she was grateful for that.
    He took her hand and bowed; his eyes took in each detail. She is beautiful indeed, he thought. Reports have not lied. But his heart sank a little because she was so young and clearly inexperienced. He was too old, as he had said, for over-much wooing. He preferred a mature woman, eager and passionate as himself. He could name a few. Nesta was at the head of the list – wild incomparable Nesta, Princess of Wales, who long ago had been his beloved mistress even before his first marriage. He would have married Nesta had it been possible; but when he had been a young prince with nothing but his hopes dependent on the generosity of his supporters, he had been in no position to marry, and after he had seized the crown it had been necessary that he should marry his Saxon princess, Matilda of Scotland. He had always been mindful of the fact that he was a king first and his crown must come before all else.
    It was for this reason that he must now