The Passionate Enemies by Jean Plaidy Page A

favourable answer to the petition than one such as himself. ‘I am confident I shall be so blessed. The Queen is young and I believe will bear many children.’
    â€˜She is a good and pious lady,’ replied Ralph, ‘and there seems no reason why
she
should not be favoured.’ Ralph sighed. He was thinking of the scandals about the King. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘you should pray earnestly and long . . . and humbly. You have fathered so many in a manner which would not find favour in God’s eyes.’
    â€˜Yes. He has given me many children whom I love dearly. You know my son Robert of Gloucester . . .’ The King’s voice softened when he spoke of his favourite son, Nesta’s boy, the fruit of early passion such as he could never hope to reach again. ‘What a fine son he is! God smiled on me on the day he was born.’
    â€˜He frowned on the night when the White Ship went down taking with it your only legitimate son.’
    â€˜Ay, and two of the others whom I loved dearly.’
    â€˜God is not mocked,’ replied Ralph. ‘Forget not that the sins we commit must be paid for.’
    â€˜I paid for mine when I lost my William.’
    â€˜It is for God to say whether you have paid in full.’
    A plague on this pious old churchman! thought the King. Why must they always prophesy evil? It was the same with Anselm. They thought themselves so good that they could see nothing but the sins of others. Men like Ralph and Anselm had nothing to be proud of. In the King’s eyes, men who did not desire women – ay, and satisfy their desires – were in some measure less than men. They had no desires and preached piety over those who had. Small wonder that he wanted to see merry men like Roger the Bishop of Salisbury in the Church, men who knew what it was to desire a woman. And what a woman Matilda of Ramsbury was! She reminded him in some ways of Nesta.
    He was in no mood to listen to more of Ralph’s preaching. He rose.
    â€˜So,’ he said, ‘tomorrow you will conduct the ceremony.’
    The ceremony was performed in the chapel at Windsor and all wondered whether the aged Archbishop of Canterbury would survive it. So distorted was his speech that it was difficult to hear what he said; and during one or two moments it seemed that his tottering footsteps would falter.
    The King fumed inwardly and thought what a nuisance the old man was; but he had learned, as his brother Rufus had before him, that trouble could be incurred through quarrels with the Church. He had anxieties enough. Normandy hung like a millstone about his neck. His brother Robert was incarcerated in Cardiff Castle, which was no less than he deserved. for if ever a man invited disaster that man was Robert. But Robert’s son, William the Clito, still roamed Normandy and at any moment an insurrection could spring up in support of him. The governing of England, the holding of Normandy – these were troubles enough. Henry wanted no bickering with the Church. So this old man must perforce do what he considered his duty while Roger chafed because of what had been denied him.
    But there was Adelicia beside him, and she was beautiful. He wished that he could feel more enthusiasm for her. She was too young, too meek and acquiescing. Often it seemed that she was doing her painful duty. Perhaps she was. Poor girl, a stranger to the passionate ecstasy in which he had revelled with so many – but chiefly with Nesta, the incomparable mistress, now married to Gerald de Windsor, a husband he had found for her twenty years ago when he had married his first wife Matilda. Theirs had been an enduring relationship. They had made no demands on each other. How many mistresses had he taken over the years? How many lovers had shared her bed? It mattered not. She was for him, and he was for her, the best they had ever known in all their wide experience.
    It was not meet that while he said his