Devil's Brood (25 page)

“But he started this war, not Harry. Why goad Harry’s sons into rebellion if he were not willing to see it through to the end?”

Henri smiled faintly. “I said he was complicated, not consistent. Louis hates the English king almost as much as he loves God. For more than twenty years, Harry has bested him at every turn. He could not keep Harry from wedding his queen, or from winning the English Crown, or from expanding his realm until it now rivals Charlemagne’s. Had he not been so starved for success, he’d not have let himself be talked into that farce at Verneuil. But you may be sure that any satisfaction he gained from it was all too fleeting, a poisoned brew by morning, for even if he does not always heed it, Louis is cursed with a conscience, a most inconvenient virtue for a king.”

The count paused, as if deciding how candid he ought to be. “A man so beset with self-doubts does not deceive himself about his capabilities. He may not admit it, but he knows he is an inept battle commander, Harry a brilliant one. He thought Thomas Becket had given him the weapon he needed, a way to defeat Harry beyond the battlefield, and when the archbishop was so foully murdered, midst his grief there was satisfaction, too, that Harry would finally reap what he had sown. You can imagine his frustration when Harry managed to avoid excommunication and then to make his peace with the Church. You have to feel some sympathy for him, Raoul. He is like that figure in Greek myth…what was he called? The poor king condemned forever to roll a stone uphill, only to have it roll back down again. Well, that is Louis, constantly struggling to thwart Harry at something, anything, and constantly losing.”

“I might have more sympathy for the man,” Raoul said tautly, “if he were not so willing to make my niece the scapegoat for his sins.”

“Does that truly surprise you? He has never forgiven Eleanor for daring to wed Harry rather than waiting dutifully for him to select a husband for her. And he has never forgiven her for then giving Harry five sons when she gave him only daughters. But if you cannot muster up sympathy for Louis, neither can I find sympathy to spare for your niece. She meant to use Louis for her own ends, so she can hardly complain once she discovers that he was using her, too.”

Raoul felt resentment flicker, but he did not allow it to catch fire. He’d long known that Eleanor’s French allies were of two minds about her part in the rebellion. They welcomed the aid offered by the Duchess of Aquitaine, but they were not comfortable with the rebel queen, the faithless wife. Raoul held his tongue, though, for he’d not yet gotten what he needed from Henri. “What if we could make Louis believe that this was one war he could win? That if he held firm, he could have a great victory over Harry?”

“If you can give him that certainty, the king will prevail over the monk, to borrow that memorable phrase coined by your niece. But it will be no easy task. I know that at times it seems as if he can be led by the nose like a bridled gelding. But he can also be very stubborn, his the stiff-necked obstinacy of the weak. And between them, Robert and your young Richard have him determined to make peace on the morrow, if only to punish them for their defiance. So it will not be enough to convince him that he can finally gain that victory over Harry. You will have to offer him a way to save face, too, to reverse himself without sacrificing his pride.”

Henri smiled then, signaling that the lesson was over. “We’d best go down to the hall whilst there is still time to change Louis’s mind. I will be interested to see if you can put my advice into action.”

U
PON HIS RETURN
to the great hall, Raoul joined his brother, who whispered that Robert had just stormed out after a particularly acrimonious exchange with Louis. The French lords were gathered around the dais, save for the Count of Évreux, who had withdrawn to a window-seat, watching the proceedings with the detached amusement of one being entertained by minstrels or jongleurs. Louis was seated upon the dais, and a chair had been provided for Hal, but he’d not remained in it for long and was fidgeting like a horse about to bolt, although he kept his gaze fastened upon the French king and his brother all the while.

Richard was standing on the dais steps, looking at Louis with a hawk’s unblinking intensity. “You still have not answered me, my liege. How would my lady mother fare under this ‘peace’ of yours?”

Raoul silently blessed Richard for putting the question so bluntly, for going right to the heart of the matter. But as he glanced around the hall, he could find little sympathy for Eleanor’s plight, and with a chill, he realized that the only one standing between Eleanor and disaster was her sixteen-year-old son.

Louis was finding it harder and harder to maintain a civil tone with this prideful young lordling, who seemed to have inherited the worst qualities of both his parents. “I understand your concern for your mother, lad, but you must trust me that—”

For Richard, the French king’s patronizing smile was the spark that set his smoldering temper ablaze. “I am the Duke of Aquitaine, not your lad! And I do not give my trust freely. It must be earned.”

Louis saw no further reason to humor this impudent brat. “You need to be reminded, Richard, that you came to me as a supplicant, and you and your brothers promised to be guided by my advice and that of my council.”

Richard’s upper lip curled. “But not all promises are kept, my liege…are they?”

This not-so-subtle reference to Verneuil hit its target, and Louis’s face twitched as if he’d been struck. “You are a foolish boy, and you’ve said more than enough!”

“Not nearly enough! Hear me on this—all of you.” Richard swung around, his eyes raking the hall. “I will have no part of this so-called peace.”

Louis had half risen from his chair. “Then you will stand alone!”

“No,” Hal said suddenly, “he will not.” Coming down the steps of the dais, he stood beside Richard and looked at his father-in-law, head high. “My brother and I do not often see eye-to-eye, but he has convinced me that he is right and it would be folly to accept our father’s offer.”

Richard and Louis were staring at Hal, the former with gratified surprise, the latter with angry disappointment. When Hal shot a meaningful glance toward Geoffrey, he hesitated briefly and then sauntered over to join them. “I will not be accepting the offer either.”

“And how do you expect to fight your father without French help?” Louis demanded scornfully. “You’ll find that your words ring as hollow as your titles!”

“They’ll have my help!” Heads turned toward the Count of Dreux, standing in the open doorway of the hall. Once he was sure that all eyes were upon him, Robert swaggered forward to stand beside Henry’s sons. “And they ought to have yours, for they have sworn allegiance to you for Normandy and Aquitaine, so you owe them a liege-lord’s protection!”

“What would you know about a king’s duties and obligations? You’ve never worn a crown, and that is your true grievance with me, Robert—jealousy, pure and simple!”

Paying no attention to Robert’s enraged reply, Raoul shoved his way over to the window-seat where Simon de Montfort was lounging. “I need your help. I know how to get Louis to change his mind, but he’ll not heed Eleanor’s uncle. You have to be the one to tell him.”

“I’d like nothing better than to continue the war, but Louis will not heed me, either.”

“He listened to you at Verneuil!”

“Yes…and soon regretted it. Have you not noticed how coldly he has treated me since then? It is a wonder I have not gotten frostbite by now. No, you need someone else, someone he truly trusts…and that has never been me.”

Raoul turned away, searching the hall frantically for the right face, one whom the French king “truly trusts.” For a moment, his eyes rested upon the Count of Champagne. Henri had nothing to gain, though, nor to lose, whether it be peace or war. But his brother…his brother had long lusted after Amboise Castle, and a premature peace would take that glittering prize from his grasp. Within moments, Raoul had drawn Thibault of Blois aside, speaking quietly and urgently in the count’s ear, and then he held his breath as Thibault strode toward the dais.

“I am astonished,” he declared, “that our sovereign lord should be spoken to so disrespectfully. The Duke of Aquitaine must be forgiven, for he is young and has not yet learned to govern his temper or his tongue. But you, my lord Count of Dreux, have no such excuse.”

Robert was quite willing to aim his rage at a new target, but Thibault did not give him a chance to retaliate. “May I speak to the council, my liege?” Mollified by his deference, Louis graciously gave his permission, and Thibault mounted the steps of the dais.

“We can all agree that the English king’s offer was surprisingly generous, and this from a man not known for spending with wild abandon.” There were some chuckles at that, and even Louis smiled. “We need to consider what that means, my lords. Henry Fitz Empress proclaimed his willingness to welcome his sons back with open arms, as if their rebellion had never been, and then to reward them lavishly for that very rebellion. What does that tell us? That he is desperate to make peace with his sons. Think about that, my liege, my lords, think about the leverage that gives us. If Henry will offer so much in his opening gambit, how much more will he concede if only we hold firm!”

Thibault paused, saw with satisfaction that Louis was listening intently. “This is a rare opportunity, my lord king. We have something that the English king very badly wants. I say we take advantage of that, deny him his peace until he is willing to pay the price we set upon it. And he will pay it, for as he said himself this morn, nothing is more important than blood, than his sons.”

A hushed silence greeted Thibault’s words; even Robert had the sense to keep quiet. Louis leaned back in his chair, and then nodded gravely. “As always, you are the voice of reason, my lord count, the only one in the hall. We would be fools, indeed, if we let this chance go by. On the morrow, we shall tell the English king that he will have to do better, much better.”

Raoul’s first reaction was the exhausted relief that so often marked the end of a bloody battle. Too weary to celebrate, he found an empty window-seat and slumped down upon the cushions, closing his eyes, not looking up until his brother was standing beside him, asking if this was his doing.

“Indeed, yes,” he said proudly, and began to laugh. “How I love the way Fortune’s Wheel tilts when we least expect it. I daresay you remember what almost befell Eleanor when her marriage to Louis was dissolved and she was seeking to reach safety in her own lands.”

“Of course I remember. Twice she was almost abducted by overly eager grooms.”

“And one of them was Count Thibault, who was sorely disappointed when she was warned that he’d planned to seize her in Blois and force her to wed him. I always thought it ironic that Louis would then marry her daughter to him. But it is even more ironic,” Raoul said with a grin, “that Thibault, of all men, should now be her unwitting savior!”

A
S THEY RODE
from Gisors to the meeting place under that venerable elm, Henry was in good spirits, listening as Willem boasted to Geoff about their capture of Louis’s castle at Chaumont-en-Vexin six years ago. “It was a great triumph for your lord father, brilliantly executed.”

“He says that because he was one of my commanders,” Henry interjected and Willem grinned.

“Modesty has never been one of my failings. Whilst your father tempted the garrison to rush out and engage him, Geoff, his Welsh routiers swam the river and got into the town. The garrison was soon put to flight by our men and when they tried to retreat back into the town, they found it was in flames. Chaumont was where Louis was keeping his army’s provisions, so he was greatly grieved by its fall.”

“Staying at Chaumont last night must have given him a bad dream or two, then,” Geoff said gleefully and Henry turned in the saddle to smile at him.

“I hope so, lad, I surely hope so!”

Ahead they saw the towering branches of the elm, and beneath its vast shadow, the French had gathered. Henry was amused that they’d claimed the shade, for that much he was willing to concede to them. His sons were standing together at a distance from Louis, and he took that as a good sign, although he did not feel much need to look for favorable omens, so sure was he that their answer would be the one he wanted. How could it not be? He was offering forgiveness and substantial revenues and more independence than they’d ever had before, and he was offering it despite the collapse of their rebellion. What greater proof of his sincerity could there be than that?

Upon dismounting, he gave Louis a terse greeting, for it would be years, if ever, before he’d forgive the French king for Verneuil, and then walked over to his sons. “You’ve had the night to think it over. What is your answer?”

Hal seemed to have been designated as their spokesman, for he was the one to step forward. “Our answer is no. We cannot accept.”

This was one of the few times in Henry’s life when he was caught utterly off balance, and his intake of breath was audible to Hal. He looked at this stranger who was his son and he could not understand how it had ever come to this. “Out of curiosity,” he said at last, “would you mind telling me why?”

Hal was making a disquieting discovery, that it was easier to defy Henry when he was enraged and hurling threats. For just a moment he’d seen his father’s vulnerability, seen his hurt, and somewhat to his surprise, he found he could take no pleasure in it. “It…” Clearing his throat, he said simply and with no hostility, “It is not enough.”

“Not enough,” Henry echoed incredulously. “Again, out of curiosity, you understand, just how much money will it take to buy back your allegiance?”

Stung, Hal cried out that was not what he meant, but it was Richard who now drew Henry’s attention. “We are not talking about money.”