The Baron said, ‘Your Highness, can you prevail upon your husband over the issue of Normandy? Until that problem is settled a mutual friend of ours has no freedom to pursue his heart’s desire. He’s occupied day and night with dismal matters of administration, when all he craves …’ He bent to the gravel path. ‘I think you dropped this, Highness.’ He held a scarlet glove. She took it quickly. Richard de Cholet handed her its pair.
Quietly she asked, ‘Is there news of a Greek girl called Xena? She was my personal maid. Is she still alive?’
‘Alive, Your Highness – and, if I may be bold – in a condition similar to your own. Though not so advanced.’
The Queen stopped and clasped a hand against her heart. ‘I give thanks!’ she said. ‘I prayed for her …’
The guards stared and one began to walk towards her. She flicked him away.
‘Whose?’ she whispered.
‘The Young Duke’s.’
‘Oh, no!’ she gasped. ‘He violated her?’
‘Not at all. He loves her more than his right arm. She has become the breath of his body, he says.’
The Queen gasped and pressed a hand to her side. You are the breath of my body were words Geoffrey had used to her.
‘Highness!’
‘It’s nothing. The prince kicked suddenly. Tell me more about Xena.’
‘Because of her, Henry refuses to discuss marriage. He refuses the companionship of his other concubines. His father is at his wits’ end.’
Eleanor became silent and pensive. After some time she said, ‘Perhaps we can play chess this afternoon? The King is hunting in Boulogne and my ladies prefer backgammon.’
Although the day was warm, when she returned to her apartment she complained it was chilly and ordered a servant to light the fire in her bedchamber. In her privy she slowly pulled Geoffrey’s notes from inside the gloves and when she had memorised his words threw the two pieces of parchment into the fire. Her cheeks still flamed with excitement from what he had written.
‘A prayer rises more swiftly to heaven when it’s burned,’ she announced to her attendant ladies. ‘Surely the heir I carry will be sound in all his limbs and faculties.’
‘Amen,’ they said and crossed themselves.
In the library that afternoon she and the Baron played chess. ‘Be quiet!’ Eleanor ordered the chattering women. They moved the backgammon table further away but every so often one of the cats leaped on it and swiped their tokens to the floor.
Cholet held a pawn between his finger and thumb, hesitating on his move. ‘I feel affection for pawns,’ he said. ‘They put me in mind of children. Or babies … Now, should I think of this pawn as the King’s and put it there? Or perhaps … I should move it next to the rook?’
‘My dear Baron,’ she replied, ‘I wish I knew how to advise you. But I cannot. What’s more, you’re not concentrating and I’m about to put you in check.’ She took advantage of her ladies’ outraged cries at Sekhmet. ‘Young Henry must give Louis something,’ she whispered. ‘The theft of his horse is humiliating. There are tavern songs about it that attack the King’s prestige. Louis is angrier about losing Jason than about Estienne’s head.’
Personally, Eleanor hoped Henry would never inherit Normandy. She wished he would die of frustration, of fever, or drowning, or anything, to punish him for his vile behaviour the night they met. But she was a realist and knew that until the issue was settled, war with Normandy would continue. In times past Vikings had reached the gates of Paris. The King of France had been forced to give them the province they now called Normandy so they would leave the capital unharmed. Who could say that, allied with Anjou, Maine and possibly Brittany, their descendants would not be victorious against the House of Capet? But while a state of war continued she had no hope of seeing Geoffrey.
Two weeks later, knights crossed the Norman border at Gisors asking safe passage through the Île de France. There they delivered a large parcel wrapped in hessian, then in linen, then in brocade. Inside was Jason’s caparison. An accompanying letter read:
Geoffrey, Duke of Normandy, and his son, Henry, to their Lord, by the grace of God, King Louis of France, Greetings. We humbly request Your Highness accept this caparison, found in an oak forest outside Rouen. The garment is fit only for a royal mount.
A scribe had written the message in elegant Latin, its border decorated with acanthus leaves and flowers. It had two wax seals, one with a G, the second an H.
Despite himself, Louis chuckled. He summoned the Baron. ‘I want the rest of my horse,’ he said. He peered at the initials inscribed in wax. ‘Strange quills they use,’ he said. Eleanor, leaning over his shoulder, thought no quill makes a mark so deep. They’ve signed it with the points of their daggers, you dolt.
Soon after, a second letter, bearing the same signatures, arrived to announce that a forester had sighted a glorious steed roaming near the river. We shall attempt to catch him and return him to Your Highness under the care of a knight.
‘I want my saddle returned also,’ Louis said to the Baron. To his wife he added, ‘At last they’re serious about negotiating.’
Normandy for a horse? she thought. Louis, you’re a fool. Being King has made you smug, while piety blinds you to the character of men. And women. But she kissed him tenderly, in the presence of Richard de Cholet. ‘Magnanimous King,’ she said.
Already the Baron, whose release was imminent, had taken risks for her, sending a letter to Geoffrey concealed in the lining of a hat, another in the straw of a basket of quail eggs. It was no wonder, he thought to himself – no wonder but a great pity – that his dear friend had fallen in love with the Queen. She was ravishing to the eye, and as charming and talented a rascal as her father, Duke William. It was known that the old Duke could coax a dove out of a tree and that he never met an attractive woman without his hands ending up beneath her skirts.
Michaelmas came, but no royal child. In October the Queen was delivered of a daughter. Louis wept. As he held his exhausted wife in his arms, she wept too. ‘What is to become of France?’ she sobbed.
Her husband joined his hands in prayer. ‘We shall persist,’ he said. He had called Master Erasmus from his duties at the Guild to attend the royal birth. ‘You did your best,’ he said. ‘My Queen shall conceive once more.’
‘Of course, Lord King. Your wife is a strong, healthy woman of great and vital spirit,’ the physician answered.
Eleanor glared at him. ‘You told me I’d have a son,’ she said. She was thinking, I’ll have no more children with Louis Capet. I’ll get a divorce. I’ll gain my freedom. But since the death of Estienne, it was obvious that Augustin, captain of the palace guards, had taken on the Seneschal’s hatred of her. Although she did not really expect to be poisoned, at random moments she demanded Augustin taste her food.
Henry shared his father’s conflicting emotions when news reached Rouen of the date of birth and the sex of the royal infant. Geoffrey was disappointed the baby was not his, but relieved Louis still had no heir. Heirless, the King could not much longer refuse to accept Henry as Duke without earning himself a reputation for petulance.
‘Unless he plans another attack,’ Henry said. He raised his eyebrows in query at his father.
Henry returned Jason to Louis after the stallion had covered more than a hundred of their Normandy and Anjou mares. The Normandy climate, with its abundant rain and lush pasture, was ideal for horses, and for all agriculture except wine. By the following spring the first of Jason’s foals would drop. In a few more years Henry knew his stables would be stronger than Louis’s, and greater than Stephen’s and Eustace’s combined. With Xena by his side, he walked through the stables inspecting his horses. ‘The foundation of our economic strength,’ he said. ‘As you are the foundation of my happiness.’
It was a good time of year to bag woodcock, so to cheer his father, Henry suggested they go hunting. The meadows around Rouen were windless, with the first orange and yellow leaves of autumn drifting sile
ntly from branches at the edges of some fields. They crossed a small forest to reach open ground where their hunting birds could fly. In the wood the softly rotting, humid smells of mushrooms and fungi growing on tree trunks made strolling a relaxation. Tethering their horses, they continued on with two falconers, ten hounds, three falcons and three goshawks.
After a while Geoffrey said, ‘She writes that she longs for me, that only the thought of our being together keeps her from leaping into the Seine. I believe she actually hates Louis now. She signs herself The Prisoner.’
He sat on the mossy stump of a tree. The falconer and hounds had rushed off through the fields, following the falcons that floated in the high blue sky. Geoffrey dropped his head into his hands.
Gradually, Henry realised his father was weeping. He hunkered on the ground beside him. ‘Papa?’
‘She’s told me a secret,’ Geoffrey said. ‘Louis is determined she’ll have another child. He persists in believing he can get an heir on her. But she’s learned from some Greek physician a way to avoid falling pregnant, so she’s certain, with a little more patience, she’ll win her divorce. The Church cannot go on forever denying an heir to France. The bishops must give way.’
‘But this is good news,’ Henry said. He stared at his father’s heaving shoulders.
At last Geoffrey lifted his head. His broad cheekbones were still wet with tears. ‘Henry,’ he said, ‘you know in what danger heiresses live. The moment she gets a divorce some swine will abduct her and force her to the altar. She must have the protection of a husband. And I can’t give it to her.’
His silent stare turned Henry’s bowels cold. But before he could utter a word, Geoffrey leaped up and clapped his hand across Henry’s mouth. ‘Don’t speak!’ he ordered. ‘Listen to what I say!’ He wept again for a few moments. ‘Henry, in all Europe there is only one prince courageous enough to protect her. That prince is you, and –’ Henry jerked away violently but his father grabbed him by the hair. ‘– and with Eleanor’s lands, you’ll control almost all of France!’
Henry turned and rushed through the trees.
When one of the hounds found him he followed it back on leaden feet to the stump where he had left his father. The falcons and goshawks had been fed and hooded for the journey home. Spread across the autumn leaves were more than forty woodcock, enough for the whole family and senior members of the regiment. When Geoffrey saw Henry dawdling towards him he said to the falconer, ‘Take the woodcocks to the kitchens. My son and I will enjoy the forest a while longer.’
They strolled side by side. Henry said, ‘The answer is no.’
‘Why?’
‘She obviously hasn’t told you, which I appreciate. But the fact is, we hate each other.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
‘Papa, I have a confession. I was unchivalrous to her the night we met. I’d just murdered Hamelin in cold blood and I was about to kill the maid. I blamed Eleanor. I was so angry I … behaved badly. Ask her.’
Geoffrey walked on in silence for a while, from time to time picking a mushroom to sniff. At length he said, ‘Henry, I realise you are madly in love with Xena, and think of her day and night. But God’s feet, son! She was a slave in the court at Constantinople! However wicked it was that she was sold into slavery, you cannot imagine you can marry – if that’s what you’re thinking – an ex-slave, and be King of England!’
Henry said, ‘Father, do not say one more word about Xena.’ His dagger was in his fist.
Geoffrey sat down and began to weep again. This is my fault, he thought. I knew he’d be conquered as soon as he found a pure and tender heart. ‘God help me,’ he murmured. He remembered how he’d violated Matilda to get her with child. In the instant we made him, he thought, we put turmoil into his heart.
Henry re-sheathed his dagger.
‘I spoke only half the truth,’ Geoffrey said. ‘I spoke of politics and power. But the truth for me is this, Henry. I can’t marry her myself. We both know the Church will never grant me a divorce. But I can’t bear the thought of any other man having her. Any man I don’t love as much as I love you. I want you to marry Eleanor for me.’
Henry walked off a few feet and vomited.
Geoffrey said, ‘Take out your dagger again.’ He laid his left hand on the blade. ‘I make this vow,’ he said. ‘Once Eleanor is yours, I’ll never touch her. I’ll never see her. I’ll never speak to her. I’ll never write to her. I’ll say goodbye to her forever. I vow this on my life.’ Henry embraced him; their hearts thudded against each other. ‘If I break this vow, may I die by my own hand. Or by yours, for which I absolve you of all guilt. God witness this oath.’
He looked up into the tall autumn trees. Henry followed his gaze. ‘They hear me,’ Geoffrey said.
Henry thought, she’s betrayed one king – she can betray another. But the real issue is: Eleanor and I hate each other. Father refuses to understand he’s asking me to take a snake into my bed.
It was already past supper time. The shadows of the trees had grown long. They mounted and turned their horses’ heads for home. ‘Can we discuss this again, some other time?’ Henry asked. ‘For example, when she gets her freedom?’ He felt he owed his father some more explanation. ‘Papa,’ he said, ‘Xena is not really Xena. She’s Rachel filia Avram, daughter of the former chief rabbi of Antioch, whom Frankish knights murdered. Along with the rest of her family.’
Geoffrey reined in his horse. ‘I knew there was something unusual about her! So she’ll raise your child as a Jew?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Have you discussed it with her?’
‘Not yet. But I’m sure she’ll agree it must be baptised.’
Geoffrey said, ‘Henry, women change when they become mothers. You know the saying: the maiden dies when the mother is born.’
Henry’s face coloured. ‘Rachel’s the seal on my heart. Our hearts are one and our purpose is one: to love each other.’
‘Son, your purpose is to become King of England.’
Henry shrugged. ‘I learned from you, Papa, that a man can live two lives at once.’
In Paris there was a wetnurse for the Princess Alix, a pretty little thing whom the Queen visited once a day, each time with a feeling of shame and anger that she had, again, failed to give France an heir.
Every morning Eleanor drank herbs and had her body tightly bound in a long strip of linen that reached from her armpits to her hips. It was uncomfortable but effective. By the Christmas Court she was as lithe as a dancer.
‘Your figure is lovely. You’re completely healed from the birth,’ Louis said. ‘It’s time for another baby.’
‘Will there be war in the coming year?’ she asked. Her jewelled hand lingered on a cat.
Louis’s face stiffened slightly. ‘You refer to Normandy?’
‘Not at all. Anywhere in the realm.’
‘I have to hand out a few black eyes in the south. And some in Brittany. But the vassals are behaving well, on the whole. I don’t expect to be on campaign for more than a couple of months.’
‘So if I’m with child I won’t be abandoned in Paris, wondering if my husband is wounded, or has fever …’
‘I won’t be fighting at all. I’ll just show my face.’ He chuckled. ‘We’re this far …’ he held his right thumb and forefinger almost together, ‘from convincing the Anjevins to cede the Vexin to us. As soon as they do, the boy can do me homage for Normandy.’ He shoved a cat off the bench to sit beside her. ‘He’ll be no threat to France after that. His every ounce of silver, his every vassal, will be needed to take England. And if he succeeds … It’s in such a mess he’ll be occupied for years rebuilding it. I’ve warned Stephen and Eustace that as soon as the Anjevin is Duke of Normandy, he’ll attack England. I told Eustace he must have a strong victory this time. I’m fed up, and so is our treasurer, with English demands on France. Ever since that miserable little island fell into anarchy it’s been a drain on our wealth.’
T
he Queen made sympathetic noises. You, and before you the Regent and the Seneschal, all promoted the civil war in England, she thought. I remember the three of you laughing about it. Estienne’s favourite song was, ‘Oh, poor England, now your Lion is dead.’ A cat leaped back onto her lap. ‘I have something special planned for the Christmas Court,’ she said. ‘We’ll have the first six days in Paris. Then we’ll make a progress down to Poitiers, visiting our vassals en route. My people in Aquitaine complain they’ve not seen me for more than three years. They would love to celebrate Epiphany with their King and to welcome his new Princess.’
‘It’s a long journey,’ Louis said. ‘And the weather will be cold.’
She stroked his hand. ‘I’m yearning for time out of doors after my long confinement. The weather will get warmer the further south we go.’ She had dozens of arguments up her sleeve: she needed to inspect her castles and make sure the churches were in good repair. She wanted to increase the size of her vineyards and build a nunnery. ‘I always feel relaxed in Poitiers,’ she said. The physician had told Louis that a relaxed woman was more likely to conceive.
Two centuries were needed for the castle of Le Mans to grow from a military post to the palace of Henry’s birth. After his victory against Louis in March, Henry added a fringe of gold to its furnishings. The building was superb in proportion, bold in construction, austere and grand. And now it was comfortable. Henry refurbished the dining hall with tapestries. Geoffrey’s leopards and Henry’s standard of a lion rampant hung from its ceiling, along with many ancient relics of earlier noblemen. The family held their Christmas celebrations there, with Richard de Cholet and his wife among their guests. The Baron had a letter from the Queen.
Geoffrey took it without a flicker of emotion on his face, although his heart thumped as he slid it in a pocket to read later.
Eleanor reported that if Henry would cede the Vexin, Louis would recognise him as Duke before the end of summer – and that little or no silver would be flowing from France to England, should the new Duke of Normandy wish to invade his grandfather’s realm and lay claim to the throne. Geoffrey read aloud to Henry the parts of the letter that related to him, concealing Eleanor’s expressions of love and their plan to meet in Poitiers in a couple of weeks.
The Young Lion Page 21
