Devil's brood eoa-3

by Sharon Kay Penman

  Again, it was left to Geoffrey to respond. “Mayhap he does, Dame Amaria. But just like my marriage to the Lady Constance, La Marche’s fate depends now upon my lord father’s whim, upon his mood at any given moment, and as we well know, his moods can shift faster than those Channel winds I need to catch.”

  Moving to his mother’s side, he kissed Eleanor in farewell. “I must be off, Maman. Have you any words of advice for me? Any suggestions how to stay in Papa’s good graces and mayhap even pry my bride from his talons?”

  “Yes,” Eleanor said, “as it happens, I do, Geoffrey. You need never doubt that your father loves you and your brothers. But never make the mistake of believing you can trust him.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” he said and, smiling, made his departure.

  To Eleanor’s joyful amazement, Henry chose to hold his Christmas Court that year at Winchester. Richard had remained in Poitou, where he was planning an unusual winter campaign, but Hal, Marguerite, Geoffrey, and John were there, as were Roger and Maud. Even Ranulf and Rhiannon had made the long trip from Wales in order to visit with Morgan. What followed was Eleanor’s best Christmas since Chinon six years ago.

  Henry shook his head when he was offered more wine and then glanced inquiringly at his wife. “Madame?”

  “No, my lord, I have had enough,” she said blandly. They were sharing dishes as was customary, and Henry was conscientious about making sure that Eleanor received the best portions, for men were expected to look after their female dinner-mates. Good manners demanded as much, and Henry had taken care to treat Eleanor with impeccable courtesy at the Christmas Court. She in turn had been no less polite, showing deference and decorum whenever they met in public. There had been no private encounters, and she was content that there were not, for what would it serve to raise the issue of La Marche with him? If he’d not heeded her when their passion had burned at white-heat, he was not going to listen now that their marriage lay in smoldering ruins.

  Eleanor had been bothered by a headache all afternoon, but she was determined not to miss any of the festivities. She’d taken an herbal remedy and was now returning to the solar, where an informal gathering was in progress; unlike the feasts held in the great hall, this one was confined to family and friends.

  When she re-entered the solar, she was not surprised to find that Hal was still the center of attention. Slipping into her chair next to Henry, she discovered that Hal was no longer passing on gossip from the French court, but was entertaining with some of his experiences on the tournament field.

  “The tourney was held this past spring along the Norman border between the towns of Anet and Sorel. Knights had come from all over, from Flanders and Brittany and Anjou and Poitou and Champagne. Even from England,” Hal added, with a mischievous look in his father’s direction, for Henry’s disapproval of tournaments was well known; he considered them a waste of time and a threat to public order.

  Hal had been talking so long that his throat had gone dry and he paused to accept a fresh wine cup from Will Marshal. “The tourney was held on the level ground by the River Eure. Two of the French companies had already clashed and were fighting when we came upon the scene. We hit them with such force that they soon gave way and then fled the field. Our men chased after them, so eagerly that they left me behind! Only Will stayed by my side,” Hal said, with a fond glance toward the knight, who smiled and sought to appear modest and unassuming, with limited success; he was understandably proud of his prowess.

  “Will and I followed after the others, riding downhill into Anet. The knights, both the hunted and the hunters, had already raced through the town, but the French lord, Simon de Neauphle, was still there, with three hundred foot soldiers he’d ordered to protect the lists. They saw us at the same time that we saw them, and Will, bless him, declared, ‘There is nothing for it but to charge them.’ And so we did.”

  That provoked an admiring murmur from his audience. Hal grinned disarmingly. “I know, we were quite mad. But damned if they did not scatter like a flock of chickens! I was glad enough just to avoid capture, but Will saw his chance and snatched the bridle of Simon de Neauphle’s horse-his favorite method of capturing enemy knights.

  “So we galloped through the town, towing Simon along behind us, for without his reins, he had no control of his mount. But then we happened to pass under a low-hanging gutter and Simon grabbed it, as neat a trick as I’ve ever seen. Poor Will never looked back, so he did not know he’d lost his prisoner, not until it was too late.”

  “And of course you never thought to warn me,” Will complained mildly, and Hal grinned again.

  “Hellfire, Will, I was laughing too much to talk, laughing so much I damned near fell off my own horse!” Throwing an arm around the knight’s shoulders, he acknowledged that “Will was a good sport about it, though, laughed as heartily as any of us afterward.”

  Hal was about to launch into another tournament tale, but just then a servant entered with a platter of wafers, some filled with cheese, others with honey. Henry and Eleanor watched with amusement as Hal and Geoffrey and their friends pounced upon the platter and gobbled up the wafers like starving wolves. Rising, Eleanor crossed to her daughter-in-law and gave Marguerite a quick hug. The young woman smiled, but she seemed very fragile to Eleanor, as if she might be bruised by a breath, and Eleanor’s heart ached for her.

  Across the solar, Maud and Rhiannon were talking quietly together, and when Eleanor’s eyes caught Maud’s, the countess sent her a silent message. Curious, she strolled over to see what Maud wanted.

  “We need to talk to you,” Maud said, and steered Eleanor and Rhiannon toward a window-seat. “Rhiannon and Ranulf are fretful about their son. Morgan is old enough now for the next stage of his education, and Hal has kindly offered to take the lad into his household.”

  Eleanor glanced from one woman to the other. “And…?”

  Rhiannon looked so unhappy that Maud realized it was up to her. “Rhiannon is loath to speak frankly. Fortunately, I’ve never had that problem. The truth, Eleanor, is that Ranulf and Rhiannon are not sure that this is best for their son. Morgan is at an impressionable age and easily influenced, especially by someone as charming and beguiling as Hal. See for yourself,” she said, jerking her head toward Morgan.

  Eleanor’s gaze came to rest upon Rhiannon’s son. He was a handsome youngster, with his father’s dark eyes and his mother’s thick chestnut hair, and he was listening to his cousin Hal as raptly as a young novice monk eager to pledge himself to the greater glory of God.

  “I see,” Eleanor said. Her first reaction was displeasure, a mother’s indignation that Maud and Rhiannon should dare to disparage her son, to imply that Hal’s flaws were a cause for concern. But it soon passed. She owed Rhiannon a great deal, for the Welshwoman had given her support when she most needed it. She owed her an honest answer, and as much as it grieved her to admit it, she knew in her heart that her eldest son was not the best role model for a lad like Morgan. She loved Hal, but she was not blind to his faults. He was good-hearted, generous, engaging, and dashing. He was also irresponsible, impulsive, fickle, and malleable.

  “It might not be for the best,” she said at last, “to place Morgan in Hal’s household. He is not likely to give Morgan the supervision a lad of his tender years needs. What a pity Richard is not here. He took Rico, Rainald’s natural son, as one of his squires last year, and I am sure he’d have been willing to take Morgan under his wing, too.”

  No one spoke, for Rhiannon was dismayed that Eleanor had confirmed her misgivings; she’d hoped for reassurance. And Maud had the heretical thought that Morgan would be no better off with Richard than he would with Hal. No one would ever accuse Richard of being flighty or irresolute. But he was gaining a reputation for recklessness, for the sort of mad courage that other men found so irresistible and mothers of squires found so alarming. She was not about to say that to Eleanor, though, and so she said instead that her son Hugh would be happy to accept Morgan into his
household, but she feared that the lad was so bedazzled by Hal that he’d see the Earl of Chester as a great letdown.

  Eleanor considered the problem, and then smiled. “I have the solution. I’ll ask Geoffrey to accept Morgan as one of his squires. He takes part in enough tournaments to satisfy Morgan’s craving for excitement, and he’s proving himself to be a capable commander in his campaigns against the Breton rebels.”

  Rhiannon was vastly relieved. “That would be so good of you, my lady! How can I ever thank you?”

  “It is my pleasure,” Eleanor said, and indeed it was, for this was the first time in five years that she’d been able to do a favor for a friend, to dispense the patronage and largesse that was expected of those who wielded royal authority.

  Rhiannon soon excused herself, and a few moments later, she had joined Ranulf and was murmuring in his ear. Eleanor smiled when Ranulf glanced in her direction. While Rhiannon and Maud had embraced her warmly during this Christmas Court, she’d gotten only cool civility from Ranulf and Roger. She knew Ranulf would feel honor-bound to thank her for placing his son in Geoffrey’s household, and she was looking forward to gaining the upper hand, however petty it might be. Maud had remained by her side, but now she gave an audible sigh, and Eleanor saw that her gaze had fastened upon her son Hugh, in animated discussion with Willem, who’d recently returned from his pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

  “I’d better rein him in ere he gets sloppy drunk and makes a fool of himself,” Maud said grimly, and Eleanor realized that Hugh had been drinking a lot since his arrival at Winchester.

  “Is he developing too much of a fondness for wine?” she asked quietly, and Maud shook her head.

  “Only when he’s in the king’s presence. You’ve not noticed that he gets as nervous as a treed cat around Harry?”

  As the countess went off to take charge of her wayward son, Eleanor felt an envious itch, wishing that she could be as pragmatic about motherhood as Maud. The other woman had long ago made a clear-eyed, unsentimental assessment of her eldest son, accepting his weaknesses but loving him wholeheartedly anyway. That was no easy feat, for affection and expectations invariably colored most parental appraisals of their offspring. Eleanor hoped she was able to see her sons as they truly were, but all she could be sure of was that she saw them more realistically than her husband did.

  Some of her earlier high spirits had faded, and she suspected it was because she’d been forced to pass a judgment upon her eldest son, weighing Hal in the balance and finding him wanting. As her eyes lingered upon his golden head, she sought to assure herself that it was not too late for him. Jesu, he was not yet twenty-four. Surely he had time to sort himself out.

  She was intending to speak to Geoffrey about his cousin Morgan when her eye was caught by a movement in one of the window-seats. With casual nonchalance, she began her approach, not wanting to scare her quarry off, and she slid into the window-seat beside her son before John could retreat.

  “I have not seen much of you this week, John.” Thinking that was an understatement; her youngest had been as elusive as a ghost during the Christmas Court so far.

  The boy sprang to his feet, reluctantly reclaiming his seat only when she gestured for him to sit. “Madame.”

  Eleanor took this opportunity to study him. He was just a few days from his twelfth birthday, but looked younger, for he was undersized. Henry was of average height, although he’d always appeared larger due to his powerful build. Both Hal and Richard were taller than he, Geoffrey shorter. Unless he sprouted up like a weed in the next few years, she thought John would likely be closer to Geoffrey’s height than his other brothers. It was disconcerting to see her own eyes in that thin little face. This was a child of her womb, so why did he seem like such a stranger?

  She decided not to waste time with superficial chatter, for such a chance might not come again. “It occurred to me,” she said, “that you and I have never talked about the rebellion or my part in it.” When he did not respond, she prodded gently. “Surely you’ve talked about it with your father.”

  “Yes…he said it was all your fault,” he said, slanting her an oblique glance through surprisingly thick lashes, and she thought she caught a glimmer of humor.

  “Most of Christendom agrees with him,” she conceded lightly. “But I thought you might have questions that only I could answer. Ask whatever you want, John, and I will try to be as honest as I can.”

  John gnawed his lower lip, and she saw his eyes dart across the solar, where his father was talking with Hal and Marguerite. “I do have a question,” he said, just when she was about to give up hope of cracking that turtle’s shell. “Did you…did you really put a snake in Richard and Geoffrey’s bed?”

  Eleanor blinked in surprise. “I was not expecting that query,” she confessed. “So they told you about that, did they? Alas, I must plead guilty. In my defense, I can say only that your brothers were born hellions. Lord, the trouble they could get into!” Smiling at John, she said, “I will make a deal with you, lad. If I tell you about some of their more hair-raising mischief-making, will you promise not to try any of these tricks yourself?”

  John ducked his head, his face hidden by a tumble of unruly dark hair. But then he shot from his seat as if fired from a crossbow. “I am sorry, Madame. I think my lord father has need of me.” And before she could protest, he fled.

  Eleanor watched as he threaded his way among their guests, finally surfacing at Henry’s side. Henry stopped in mid-sentence, slipped an affectionate arm around the boy’s shoulders before he resumed his conversation with Hal. Marguerite also gave John a welcoming smile. But Eleanor could not help noticing how brusquely Hal treated his younger brother, barely according John a nod, and she frowned. It was true that John’s castles in England and Normandy had come at Hal’s expense, but it was not fair to blame the lad for that. It was not John’s fault that his mere presence conjured up unpleasant memories for Hal.

  Her frown deepened, for she was suddenly thinking of her own unpleasant memories, those connected with John’s birth. Warned by her sister, she’d made a foolhardy winter crossing of the Channel, stubbornly set upon determining if the gossip was true, if Harry had really dared to install Rosamund Clifford openly at their Woodstock manor. She’d been feeling ungainly and clumsy in the late stages of a difficult pregnancy, feeling every one of her forty-two years, only to come face-to-face with a radiant young girl, young enough to be her daughter. She’d told herself it was her pride that was bruised, not her heart, and during those pain-filled hours as she struggled to give birth, she’d vowed that she would not die so Harry’s child might live. John had finally been brought into the world as the midnight hour drew nigh, a small, feeble shadow of the robust, sun-kissed children who’d come before him.

  “Eleanor?” She was so focused upon the awful night of John’s birth that she started at the sound of Maud’s voice, and the other woman said with a smile, “I did not mean to startle you so. You have such an odd look upon your face. Are you all right?”

  “I was just thinking that you may have been right, Maud.”

  “Must you sound so surprised by that? I am always right. About what?”

  Shaking off the past, Eleanor returned Maud’s smile. “That I may have changed, after all.”

  C HAPTER T WENTY-EIGHT

  May 1179

  Taillebourg, Aquitaine

  Perched on a steep crag overlooking the River Charente, the castle of Taillebourg seemed to be scraping the clouds, so high above the valley was it. Protected on three sides by sheer cliffs, its one accessible approach was so well defended that none had ever dared to lay siege to it, for its fortifications boasted no less than three deep ditches and triple walls. Within those bastions nestled a small town, now filled with the inhabitants of the nearby villages, who’d taken shelter there as word spread of an advancing army. Despite the crowding, their mood was calm, for the town and castle were well provisioned with enough supplies to endure a long siege.
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  The castle garrison was even more confident than the townspeople and villagers, for more than a thousand men patrolled those battlements and ramparts, answerable to one of the greatest barons of Aquitaine, Geoffrey de Rancon, and none doubted that their lord was more than a match for the Angevin king’s cub. Richard had laid siege to de Rancon’s stronghold at Pons early in the new year, and made so little progress that after three months, he’d given up and gone looking for easier prey. He’d had better luck than he had at Pons, taking five castles in less than a month. But Pons still held out defiantly and Taillebourg was even more formidable, so safe that de Rancon himself had chosen to defy Richard from within its redoubtable defenses. Upon being told by his scouts of Richard’s approach, Geoffrey de Rancon had laughed and his knights began to wager how long it would be until the foolhardy stripling crept away with his tail between his legs.

  Richard had ridden ahead of his army with a handful of his household knights, and as they gazed upon the rebel lord’s rock-hewn citadel, their spirits plummeted and their cockiness ebbed away. As they exchanged glances, the same thought was in all their minds: that Taillebourg made Pons seem as exposed as a nunnery. Only Richard and his young squire Rico were not disheartened, for Rico was convinced that Richard could walk on water if he put his mind to it, and Richard would not admit that failure was possible, not even to himself. He knew he’d been damaged by his inability to take Pons, and he knew, too, that he needed a dramatic victory if he hoped to prevail over de Rancon and the Count of Angouleme and their allies. There was no way on God’s green earth that he would slink back to England and confess defeat to his father. No, if he could not take Taillebourg, then better he die in the attempt. At least there was honor in that.

  Noticing that his squire had drawn up beside him, he glanced at the youth with a sidelong smile. “Well, what do you say, Rico? Shall we give it a go?”