The simplest way was a divorce. Or perhaps even that was not necessary. He would bring up the old charge of consanguinity. That should not be difficult because after all there was a strong relationship between them through Henry I who was the great-grandfather of them both – although Hadwisa came down through the illegitimate line – for his grandmother, Matilda, and Hadwisa’s grandfather, Robert of Gloucester, had been half-brother and sister. It was a strong blood tie and therefore it should be comparatively easy to dissolve the marriage.
None of his ministers would dare deny him a divorce. The Pope might be awkward, though, as he was being over the marriage of Philip of France. But if Hadwisa agreed, it should not be difficult. Then he would be free … free for Isabella …
As soon as he returned to England he rode to Marlborough Castle where Hadwisa lived.
She came down to the courtyard to greet him in the customary manner and to offer him the stirrup cup which he always made her drink first in case she had it in mind to poison him. Not that he really feared that. Hadwisa had no spirit; but one could never be sure with the quiet ones.
‘Ah, Hadwisa,’ he cried. ‘I trust I see you well.’
She drank from the cup without his pressing her to do so and handed it to him. He drank it and threw it from him. It clattered on to the cobbles as he leaped from his horse.
‘Come, Hadwisa. I have much to say to you.’
He slipped his arm through hers and was amused to feel her tremble. Did she think he had come to stay and spend the night with her? She was more repulsive than ever now that he compared her with Isabella. But he could still enjoy letting her fear what might be in store for her.
It might be amusing to torment her just once more. No, better not. What if he got her with child? He didn’t want that complication now. One of his excuses for ridding himself of her was going to be that she was barren and it was a king’s duty to get sons.
All the same he led the way to her bedchamber and waited a while for her to try to calm herself, to pretend that she was not fearful of what ordeal lay before her.
But he was too impatient for Isabella to enjoy plaguing Hadwisa. His one great desire now was to be rid of her.
He sat sprawling in a chair, his legs stretched out before him, and regarded the tips of his boots. ‘Well, Hadwisa, it was not much, was it, this marriage of ours? You know why, do you not? We should never have married in the first place. The blood tie was too strong. Our lusty great-grandfather should have remained faithful to his wife and then, my dear Hadwisa, you would never have been born.’
She bowed her head. She did not want him to see the hopeful lights which she knew must be shining from her eyes.
‘When I married you,’ he went on, ‘I was but the brother of a king. It seemed possible that Richard would have sons whom the people would say came before a younger brother. So I was allowed to marry you who, though of some royal blood, had come by it in a dubious manner.’
‘I was rich,’ she reminded him sharply.
‘There you have a point,’ he said. ‘Our great-grandfather was generous to his bastards.’
‘It may have been that, like his grandson, he found they served him well, even more loyally perhaps than his legitimate sons.’
She had some spirit after all.
‘Well,’ he said, ‘perforce they must. They would fare ill if they did not. A legitimate son has rights which a bastard would have to toady for.’
‘I cannot believe that my grandfather ever did that. By what I hear of him he was a most noble gentleman and the King was well aware of it.’
John made an impatient gesture. ‘I have not come here to talk of the merits of bastards,’ he said. ‘Hadwisa, you have come to great honour. Some might say you are a queen.’
‘Is not the wife of the King a queen?’
‘If he decides that she is. You remember you were never at Court. You were never beside me when I travelled. You were not crowned with me at my coronation. It is the custom for a queen to be crowned with her husband. Does this give you some idea of what is in my mind?’
He could see her heart beating wildly under her bodice. With hope, he believed. Oh yes, she wanted to be rid of him. She loathed him. She might easily have tried to poison him if she had had the courage. She had hated those occasions when he had turned his attentions on her even more than he realised. He would love to torment her now but he was too impatient to be rid of her.
‘The fact is, Hadwisa,’ he said, ‘that you have not given me a child. I have been married to you for ten years and although I admit you have not had so many opportunities, there have yet been some. I am a king. I must have an heir. So since you cannot give it to me there is only one alternative left to me. I must try elsewhere.’
‘You want to declare our marriage no marriage,’ she said calmly.
‘Failing that, there could be a divorce.’
‘There would be no difficulty,’ she said eagerly. ‘The Archbishop of Canterbury was much against our marriage.’
‘Oh yes, old Baldwin. He ranted, did he not? The blood tie is there, Hadwisa.’
‘Then you should marry again and perhaps this time you will get heirs.’
She was thinking: I pity your bride. But her relief must necessarily be stronger than her pity.
‘This is what I have come to tell you. I believe there will be no difficulty in releasing me from this marriage. I have already set matters in motion. I have chosen three bishops from Normandy and three from Aquitaine. I have no doubt what their verdict will be. The Pope will not interfere unless you raise a voice against it.’
She said, almost breathlessly, ‘You may rely on me. I shall raise no voice against it. I shall be happy with the conclusion you have come to.’
‘Then all is well,’ he said.
He stood up and looked about the room. He had had a little sport here, but not much. He had quickly tired of her terror.
‘Goodbye, Hadwisa,’ he said.
‘Goodbye, John,’ she replied in a subdued voice and never had she been so happy to say goodbye to anyone before.
He rode from the castle in high good humour.
Isabella, Isabella, he was thinking. I shall soon have you.
It must not be too obvious. He must wait for the verdict of the bishops. He had enjoyed explaining to them in a sanctimonious manner. ‘I have given this matter great thought. Hadwisa of Gloucester has been a good wife to me and I hesitate to put her from me. If I did not think it was the will of God …’
They had looked at him a little suspiciously then and he knew he had gone too far, so he had continued: ‘I must confess that it is the succession which is uppermost in my mind. I need a son. The country needs an heir. I want to do my duty to my people.’
They considered a while but not for long. It was good that the King should end his unfruitful marriage. It was true that when a king had a son it was the best thing possible for that son to follow his father to the throne. If there was no direct heir there was invariably conflict. It had happened so recently with John and Arthur.
The bishops decided – all six of them – that it would be good for John’s subjects if he married a wife who could give him an heir.
John was a free man and the Pope, after all the fuss there had been when he had married Hadwisa and the fact that they had been forbidden by the Church to live together, could not but agree. The only point which could have made him hesitate was if Hadwisa herself had raised an objection.
John was content. There was no fear of that.
He now amused himself by pretending to look round for a bride. He did not want anyone to know that he had found her already. He was going to discover when the time was ripe what a good thing it would be for him to marry Isabella of Angoulême.