Devil's Brood (61 page)

“That is indeed sad,” Eleanor agreed, but in truth, she was somewhat relieved, for she’d feared more grievous news than that. At least Tilda and Heinrich were well, in no physical danger. “It is good that they have a shelter from this storm, a place where they will be safe and welcome until the emperor can be placated and coaxed into ending the banishment. And I confess that it will be wonderful to have Tilda back, and to see our grandchildren at last.” When he did not reply, she said sharply, “I will be able to see them, Harry?”

“Of course.”

For the first time, Eleanor realized how cold it was in the garden. Rising, she shook snow from her mantle, smiling as a memory suddenly surfaced. “Do you remember the time we were pelting each other with snowballs, and your mother caught us at it? She was horrified that we were acting in such an unseemly way. Where was that…Rouen or Caen?”

“Rouen, I think.” He sounded distracted, as if he had other matters on his mind, and she decided it was time to bring this surprising evening to an end while they were still on such amicable terms. But when she suggested that they go indoors, he made no move to leave. “Eleanor…there is more. I ought to have told you at once, but I was too craven, wanted to put it off as long as I could…”

“You are the least craven man in Christendom,” she said, but her voice was no longer steady, for her fear had come flooding back. “What…what is it?”

“I had grievous news this week from Sicily. Joanna gave birth to a son, but he came too early. He only lived long enough to be baptized.”

“Oh, no, no…” This was not the first time that Death had claimed a grandchild. Marguerite and Hal were still mourning for their infant son, and just that autumn, Eleanor had learned that the baby born earlier in the year to her daughter Leonora had been found dead in his cradle. But Joanna’s heartbreak was harder for her to bear. Joanna was just sixteen. Why had God done this to her?

Turning away blindly, she would have stumbled and fallen if Henry had not reached out swiftly to catch her. Putting his arm around her shaking shoulders, he drew her to him, and she wept against his chest, wept for Joanna and her baby son, wept for herself, too, for her husband and their sons, for their accursed ill luck and their deplorable blunders, for all the evil that had overtaken their family.

T
HE SPRING HAD BEEN ONE
of incessant rains and unrelenting bad news. It began when Eleanor learned that her sister Petronilla’s elder daughter had died just before Easter. Eleanor had told Amaria about Isabelle’s sad story. She’d been wed to Philip of Flanders at a very young age and their marriage had soured when she’d been unable to give him an heir. Six years ago Philip had accused her of adultery, had her suspected lover beaten to death, and compelled her to give him control of her inheritance—the French province of Vermandois.

Isabelle’s untimely death had greater significance, therefore, than merely the end of her misery, for neither Eleanor nor Amaria doubted that Philip had made her life a living hell. Now that she was dead, Vermandois should have passed to her younger sister, Alienor. But Alienor’s rights were ignored as Vermandois became one more bone of contention between the Count of Flanders and the young French king, both of whom claimed that rich county. Eleanor was infuriated that her niece had been treated so shabbily. She could not help Alienor, though, and that only added to her discontent.

Eleanor was still fuming over her impotence when news came from Poitou that Richard was facing a formidable coalition of rebel lords—the disinherited Taillefer brothers of Angoulême, their half brother Aimar, Viscount of Limoges, the Count of Périgord, and the Viscounts of Ventadour, Comborn, and Turenne. Richard had, as usual, chosen to strike first and attacked the Count of Périgord’s castle of Puy-St-Front in Périgueux, but he did not have enough men with him to hold it, and to Amaria’s troubled eyes, Eleanor seemed to age years in the span of days, her face pallid and drawn, her appetite gone, her sleep sporadic. If Amaria had doubted Eleanor’s partiality for her second son, those doubts were dispelled as she witnessed the depths of the queen’s fear. For better or worse, Richard was closest to Eleanor’s heart, and now she could do nothing as he faced the most serious threat yet to his authority in Aquitaine.

That morning they learned that Ralf de Glanville had ridden in the night before, and Eleanor made haste to seek him out, for the justiciar had accompanied Henry to Normandy and he would be likely to have the latest word about the rebellion. As she waited for Eleanor to return, Amaria paced nervously, unable to sit still for long. To distract herself, she even tried to pet the cat, and she’d never cared for felines, considering them to be vexing, odd creatures. But Cleo haughtily rebuffed her overtures, and she resumed her pacing, wondering how she could comfort Eleanor if evil had befallen her favorite son.

When Eleanor finally came back to their chamber, though, Amaria knew at once that the news was good. For the first time in weeks, there was color in the queen’s cheeks and her eyes had lost that glazed, inward look. After instructing Amaria to pour them some wine, she sat down in the window-seat and shared what she’d learned.

“Would you believe that Harry is still acting as Philippe’s guardian angel?” she marveled. “Ralf said he met Philip and Philippe at Senlis and patched up yet another peace between Flanders and France. He then headed south, summoning the rebels to meet him at the abbey of Grandmont in Whitsun week. He told Ralf that if he could not end their rebellion by peaceful means, he would then take the field with Richard against them. Richard actually requested his support, which shows how precarious his position had become; my son does not easily ask for help. Harry told Ralf to assure me that there was no further need for concern. He’d summoned Geoffrey to Grandmont, too, and he said that if the war continued, Hal would also join them in punishing the rebels.”

“Madame, that is wonderful news!”

“Yes, Amaria, it is. It was a long time coming, but at last the men in my family will be fighting on the same side!”

T
HE COUNT OF PÉRIGORD
had retaken his castle at Puy-St-Front after Richard’s April seizure of the fortress, and in June, Richard, his father, and his brother Geoffrey set about recapturing it. The siege was going so well that Richard expected the count would soon surrender. But as of the first day of July, Hal had yet to put in an appearance.

R
ICHARD AND THEOBALD CHABOT,
one of his mercenary captains, were inspecting Puy-St-Front’s defenses for weaknesses, venturing so close to the castle walls that his knights and his squire Rico were alarmed, for he was now within range of Count Élie’s bowmen. Richard was disdainful of the danger, studying the battlements intently. “If we were to shift the mangonels,” he said, “aim them at this corner tower—”

“My lord duke!” One of his soldiers was approaching at a run, for Richard’s men knew that he expected his commands to be carried out with dispatch; in that, he was truly his father’s son. “The young king has just ridden into camp, and with a goodly force of knights and men-at-arms.”

“Has he, indeed?” Not for the first time, Richard found himself thinking that Hal had an uncanny talent for arriving just as a siege was winding down. “I suppose, then, that I ought to bid him welcome.”

Hal and his knights had already dismounted, and he was conversing easily with their father and Geoffrey, looking immaculate and well groomed and rested in the midst of the begrimed, sweaty, weary men who’d been besieging the castle for nigh on a month. As Richard shouldered his way toward Hal, the throng parted to let him pass, and Henry turned with a smile, pleased that his sons had come together like this, the first time that all three of them had gone to war under his command.

The smile left Henry’s face, though, with Richard’s first words. “Thank God Almighty, for now victory is assured. Once the rebels learn that the young king is here at last, they will surely be clamoring to surrender.”

It could conceivably have been meant as a joke—if not for the razor-edged tone of Richard’s voice. Henry looked taken aback, Geoffrey interested, and Richard’s knights amused. Hal’s knights took it for what it was—a mortal insult—and angry murmurings swept through their ranks. But Hal appeared unperturbed. Smiling at his younger brother, he said pleasantly, “Given how heavy-handed you are with your liegemen, Little Brother, rebellions like this will be a common occurrence. Since we’ll have to be riding to your rescue so often in years to come, it seemed wiser to pace myself.”

The glitter in Richard’s eyes did not bode well for a peaceful resolution, and Henry hastily stepped between them. “Enough,” he said, low-voiced. “Will you make a spectacle of yourselves in front of the entire camp?” Others came to his aid, then, seeking to draw Richard aside, offering to show Hal where his men would be setting up their tents, and the moment passed. Henry did not move, though, not until Willem came to his side. “God grant me patience,” he said softly, pitching his words for the earl’s ears only. “Whatever that was, it was not the usual brotherly rivalry.
That
I can understand. But this…this was lethal, Willem.”

And since Willem agreed with Henry, he could think of nothing to say and they stood in silence for a time, watching as men sought to keep the king’s sons as far from each other as possible.

R
EBELLIONS WERE NOT FOUGHT
to the death, and when they realized that they’d been outmaneuvered and outfought, Viscount Aimar and Count Élie sued for peace. Aimar was compelled to offer two of his sons as hostages, and Henry, Hal, and Geoffrey accompanied Aimar to Limoges, where peace terms were sworn in St Augustine’s abbey. Richard remained in Périgueux to supervise the destruction of Puy-St-Front’s walls. With only Aimar’s Taillefer half brothers in Angoulême still in defiance of Richard, the revolt sputtered to an end.

L
IMOGES WAS, LIKE NOTTINGHAM,
two separate cities, one clustered around the bishop’s palace by the River Vienne and the other spread out on the hillside around the viscount’s castle and the great abbey of St Martial, where Henry and his sons chose to stay.

The day after the peace terms were accepted, Henry and his sons celebrated with a hunt in the viscount’s woods. By the time Geoffrey returned to his guest chamber, Compline was chiming. His squires, Morgan and Jehan, had just helped him to change his muddied hunting tunic when his brother Hal made an unexpected appearance. Both surprised and curious, Geoffrey sent his squires down to the guest hall so they could talk in privacy. He assumed Hal had a specific purpose in mind, for while they had never had a serious falling out, they were not confidants or even boon companions.

Hal seemed in no hurry, though, to get to the point, and began to discuss the day’s hunt. But Geoffrey alone of his family had learned the art of patience, and he lounged at ease on the bed, sharing Hal’s wineskin as he waited for his brother to reveal his intent.

“So…” Hal said, sprawling on the bed beside him as if they were still youngsters without a care in the world, “how do you like being married?”

“Well enough.”

Hal doubted that, for he’d always found Constance to be as prickly as a hedgehog. “I’d wager your lady is not as easy to content as my Marguerite. Take the advice of a seasoned husband; gifts do wonders for marital harmony, the more frequently the better!”

“You may be right. Constance did seem quite pleased with the barony of Tréguier.” Taking note of his brother’s blank look, Geoffrey explained, “Tréguier was held by Constance’s father, but when he died, our father gave it to Conan’s uncle. The uncle died earlier this year, and I reclaimed it in Constance’s name.”

Propped up on his elbow, Geoffrey grinned, saying his wife had been very grateful, and Hal regarded him in surprise, for that sly smile was easy enough to interpret. So the demure, dignified Constance was a hell-cat in bed! Who would ever have guessed it? Flipping the wineskin to Geoffrey, he said, “So…you’ve had no luck in getting Papa to hand over Richmond or Nantes?”

“No,” Geoffrey said tersely, but then made an effort to sound more positive. “At least he has given me a free hand in governing the rest of Brittany.”

Hal was looking at him pensively, no longer smiling. “I wonder,” he said, “if you and Richard realize how lucky you both are.”

Geoffrey was in no mood for one of Hal’s self-pitying rants. “Need I remind you that a king takes precedence over a duke—even a king in waiting?”

“Yes, but would either of you truly trade places with me? I think not. Anyway, that was not what I meant. You are lucky because the two of you are not as emotionally entangled with Papa as I am. It is easier for you.”

Geoffrey sat upright on the bed. “What do you mean?”

“Give me the wineskin back and I’ll tell you.” Making a deft one-handed catch, Hal took a swig before saying, “Let’s suppose that another Great Flood engulfs the world on the morrow, and the Almighty selects Richard to be the new Noah, only He tells Richard to fill his ark with family, not creatures of the earth. What would Richard do?”

“How would I know?”

“You know. The only person Richard loves is Maman. He’d take her onboard and leave the rest of us to drown.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Geoffrey said, after a moment’s reflection, “though he might also take Joanna. But what of me? Are you saying my ark would be empty, too, except for Maman?”

“No, you’d take us all along. Well, not Richard; he’d better hope he could swim. But you’d warn the rest of us of the coming Flood. We’d only have so many chances, though, to catch the ark. If one of us had used up his chances, you’d sail off without a backward glance. I cannot say for certes when you left Papa stranded on the shore, but most likely it happened last year when he kept control of Nantes and the Honour of Richmond.”

Hal had not often surprised Geoffrey, but he’d done so now. He’d not thought Hal was that insightful. Looking at his brother through new eyes, he said, “And who would occupy your ark, Hal? Would you find room for Papa?”

Hal shrugged and then sighed. “It depends on the day. That is why I say you and Richard are the lucky ones.”

Geoffrey was finding this conversation intriguing, but he wasn’t sure it was wise to venture into such uncharted terrain. He’d never before talked openly about his own ambivalent feelings for their father. “As interesting as this is, Hal, I doubt that you sought me out to talk of arks. What really brought you here?”

“You’re right. I do have something in mind. One reason I took so long to reach Puy-St-Front was that I was meeting with some of Richard’s rebellious barons. On St Martial’s feast day, I was in Limoges, where the viscount and the people welcomed me warmly and then—”

“Save your breath, Brother. I am not interested in another rebellion against Papa. I did that once before, and it did not turn out so well.”

“I agree with you, Geoff. Papa is not the target. Richard is.”

Geoffrey rose, crossed the chamber, and slid the bolt into place. Coming back to the bed, he stood looking down at his brother. “What have you gotten yourself into now, Hal?”

“Over the past few years, I’ve come to know quite a few of the Poitevin lords. If truth be told, they’ve sought me out. Richard has done the impossible—gotten that lot of mules and malcontents to unite in a common cause. They grudgingly respect his battle skills, but when he tried to change local laws of inheritance, that was too much for them to swallow. They do not want him as their duke, have promised to transfer their allegiance to me if I am willing to help them overthrow him. I thought you might be interested in joining us.”

“What would I gain by that?”

“Apart from the great satisfaction in seeing Richard brought down?” Hal’s grin was so contagious that Geoffrey could not help returning it. “I’d make it worth your while, Geoff. One of these days I will actually become king, for not even Papa can live forever, and when I do, I’ll hand over Richmond and Nantes to you straightaway.”