A great solitude had indeed fallen on the old king.  His wife was still guarded as a prisoner.  Two of his sons had died traitors to their father.  A third was in open rebellion.  All his daughters were in far-off lands, and one of them was soon to die.  Only one son remained to him of all his household, and to him Henry now clung with a great love—­the fierce tenacity of an affection that knew no other hope.  The king himself was only fifty-six; but he was already an old man, worn out by the prodigious labours and anxieties of forty years.  There were moments when a passionate despair settled down on his soul.  One day he called his two friends, Baldwin and Hugh, out from the crowd of courtiers to ride beside him, and the bitterness of his heart broke forth, “Why should I revere Christ!” he cried, “why should I think Him worthy of honour who takes from me all honour in my lands, and suffers me to be thus shamefully confounded before that camp follower?” as he called the king of France.  Then, as if beside himself, he struck spurs into his horse, and dashed back again into the throng of courtiers.

In the eyes of the world, however, Henry was still the most renowned among the kings of the earth in his unassailable triumph and success.  For forty years his reign had been one long triumph.  From every difficulty conquered he had gained new strength; every rebellion had left him more unquestioned master.  He had never yet known defeat.  The Church was now earnest in his support.  Papal legates won for him a truce of two months after the conference at Bonmoulins, and when at its close Britanny broke out in revolt, and Richard led an army against his father’s lands, the legates again procured peace till after Easter.  From February to June of 1189 Henry waited at Le Mans, still confident, it would seem, of peace.  Once more legates were appointed to bring about a settlement between the two kings at La Ferte Bernardon the 4th of June.  With a fierce outburst of anger Henry passionately refused the demands of Philip.  The legate threatened to lay France under an interdict if Philip persisted in war, but Philip only retorted that the Roman Church had no right to interfere between the king of France and his rebel vassals, and added with a sneer that the cardinals already smelt English gold.  Then at last Henry abandoned the hope of peace.  His treasury was empty, and his lands on both sides of the water had been taxed to the last penny.  His troops had melted away in search of more abundant pay.  He was shut in between hostile forces—­Breton rebels to westward, and the allied armies of Philip and Richard to eastward.  The danger roused his old defiant energy.  Glanville hurried to England “to compel all English knights, however exhausted and poor, to cross to France,” while the king himself, with a few faithful barons and a small body of mercenaries, fell back on Le Mans, swearing that he would never forsake the citizens of the town where he had been born.