Henry’s Chancellor, standing nearby, cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself, which Henry knew had been his intent. The man’s high pitched voice never failed to grate on Henry’s nerves, but he had proven himself trustworthy and capable. Henry’s fingernails bit into his palms as he clenched his fists. “You wish to add something?”
“Oui, Majesté, let us not forget that Clito spent much of his childhood in Flandres when we drove him out of Normandie. He is known there, and speaks the language.”
Henry stared at him for several long minutes, before resuming. “Nevertheless, Clito has made too many promises to the Flemish towns. Depriving his vassals of tolls and ground rents and giving the revenues to the burghers will cost him dearly.”
The Chancellor interrupted again. “He has indeed broken the law; the tolls are not his to impose or change.”
Henry counted to ten. Did the man deem him incapable of the narrative? It angered him that Maud seemed to pay more attention to the functionary than to her father.
He looked directly at his daughter. “I intend to make trade between this country and Flandres suffer as a result. The Flemish merchants will resent that. Clito paid one thousand marks to Louis. The people will perceive he has sold Flandres to the King of France.
“If we do nothing, Clito will turn his greedy gaze once more on Normandie. He dreams of restoring his misbegotten father to the Duchy. I vow he will never oust me as Duke of Normandie. How he thinks he will free my cursed brother, Curthose, from his imprisonment is beyond me.”
“Indeed, Cardiff Castle is impregnable!” the Chancellor declared, wagging his finger.
Henry shifted his weight, gripping the arm of his chair. “We must weaken Clito. The king of France fancies himself a folk-hero—reckless in the charge as on the march, plunging into swollen rivers, rushing into burning castles. With any luck he will be killed by one of the robber barons from the Île-de-France he is bent on bringing to heel. He thinks he has been clever, claiming Clito’s nomination follows feudal law, but we shall see. I can manipulate the law as well as he.”
Maud wrinkled her nose, Henry suspected to stifle a yawn. “What of my cousin Stephen?” she asked.
Henry flicked a hand towards his Chancellor. “Tell her.”
The official cleared his throat again. Must the man do so every time he wished to speak? “Stephen secretly builds support among the English nobility.”
Maud frowned. “Who is for him?”
The Chancellor glanced at the King then continued. “None have openly declared their support. After all, our glorious king still lives, and long may he rule.” He steepled his fingers and tapped his mouth. “But we have our suspicions.”
Maud’s lips tightened into a sneer. “Why can we not confiscate their lands?”
Henry sighed. “To take lands from loyal families that have supported my reign and those of my father and brother before me would cause a revolt. I have no wish to be fighting the likes of the Montbryces in England while I am embroiled in war with France. Families such as theirs with power here and in Normandie must not be alienated. I will need the Norman barons to aid me in my campaign against Louis.”
Maud’s mouth fell open. “The Earl of Ellesmere opposes my succession?”
Henry glanced at his Chancellor. “Not the current Earl, his son, Gallien.”
Maud thrust out her chin. “Then we must pay them a visit, impress them with my suitability.”
Henry narrowed his eyes. Perhaps Maud was not a lost cause. She might feign disinterest in succeeding him, but she wanted to be Queen. He turned to his Master Marshal. “See to the arrangements. Maud will travel to Ellesmere. Her betrothed will accompany her. Send the directive to Anjou.”
The Marshal bowed.
Maud rolled her eyes as she looked towards the grimacing Ermintrude. Henry groaned inwardly. His daughter’s disdain for her betrothed was ill concealed. She deemed Geoffrey far beneath her. It did not bode well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A knot of nervous apprehension twisted Gallien’s gut as he waited with his parents and siblings in the bailey of Ellesmere Castle.
His grandfather had stood in this selfsame place to greet kings, including the great Conqueror. Baudoin de Montbryce had welcomed King Henry to Ellesmere on more than one occasion. Now they awaited the arrival of Henry’s daughter, Maud, but the mood was not festive.
Everyone was aware of the motive for her coming. The message proclaiming her visit had sent the Earl into an uncharacteristic rage. Only his mother’s calming influence had saved Gallien from permanent confinement to his chamber.
His protestations that he would not be treated like a child had carried no weight against his father’s belief he was endangering the family and all it held dear.
“Everyone in this castle is in a state of nervous apprehension,” Gallien whispered to his brother, “simply because Maud is coming to pay an official visit with her boy betrothed.”
Étienne put a hand on his shoulder. “Hush. Papa will hear you. He is angry enough.”
Gallien shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to keep his feet warm. It had been a fortnight of intense preparations during which his father had hardly spoken to him. He hazarded a glance at his sire. He had never seen his father so haggard. A pang of guilt skittered through his gut.
Everyone in the castle seemed to sense the nature of this royal visit. The cooks had reduced the scullery maids and serving wenches to tears in their efforts to ensure everything was ready for the preparation of the finest meals ever concocted in the Ellesmere kitchens.
An army of maids and houseboys had cleaned every last nook and cranny. Chambers had been swept, rugs and tapestries beaten, draperies and bedding aired, cobblestones scoured.
Steward Pascal Bonhomme had made sure the stables were spotless, the horses immaculately groomed, the men-at-arms properly uniformed and equipped, new enseignes run up the flagpoles. He even had boys up in the oak beams of the Great Hall, sweeping away cobwebs.
Gallien felt his father’s eyes on him. He dragged his thoughts back to the business at hand.
The Earl’s voice was stern. “There can be no doubt Maud is coming to speak to us specifically about the future. Remain silent. Do nothing to offend.”
Gallien nodded his acquiescence, but his innards seethed with resentment. He clenched his fists at his sides, determined Maud would suspect nothing of his opposition to her succession.
The autumn sun was high in the sky when Maud and her entourage rode to within sight of the castle, but it did nothing to warm Gallien. September had been unseasonably hot. Overnight, the weather had changed. In the stiff breeze that bore the promise of winter’s cold embrace, the snap of green and gold gonfanons, emblazoned with Henry’s device, was deafening. The steeds of the mounted knights behind Maud pranced, snorting dragons’ breath into the chilly air. As her carriage rolled into the bailey, she was greeted by the men of the Montbryce family down on one knee, and the women of the castle in deep curtseys, their wimpled heads bowed as befitted the granddaughter of William the Conqueror.
As Gallien raised his head at her command, he noticed a redheaded lad mounted on a gelding beside her carriage. Maud ignored her companion when she left the conveyance, but Gallien’s conviction that she should not become Queen grew when it dawned on him this boy with his red nose in the air was Geoffrey Plantagenet.
“Welcome, Empresse,” Baudoin gushed, stepping forward. “You do us great honor. Mon fils, Étienne, will show you to the chambers we’ve prepared. I trust they will meet with your approval.”
Gallien gritted his teeth. It was his right as the eldest son to guide the royal visitors. His father had deliberately excluded him. The fact would not be lost on Maud.
A large matronly woman lumbered out of the carriage after Maud, issuing orders to the Montbryce servants regarding the royal baggage. Gallien fumed for his mother and her faithful Steward Bonhomme, standing with their mouths agape at this insult.
Later, when the trunks had been taken to her chambers and servants had bathed and dressed her, Maud descended the stone steps to the Great Hall on the arm of Geoffrey Plantagenet.
Born only a year before Gallien, she looked to be twice his age, despite his prematurely white hair, though he had to admit her bearing was regal. The long sleeves of the heavy maroon gown tapered to a point at her wrists. Over it she wore a black tabard, cinched at the waist with a braided grey girdle. A short grey cloak of some flimsy material flowed behind her back, fixed to the shoulders of her gown with gold brooches. A long white veil cascaded down from a jewelled crown Gallien deemed rather elaborate for such an occasion. An ostentatious gold collar girded her neck.
From there, Gallien’s gaze travelled to her breasts. He found that amusing. A woman’s breasts were usually the first thing he noticed! Maud’s were—adequate.
Geoffrey wore a short vermilion doublet and tight leggings that emphasized the swell of his manhood and the curve of his buttocks. What was the boy trying to prove? Red was the color of kings, and tight hose was for men with more to show off than poor Geoffrey.
Orange and red striped fabric bloomed from the broad slashes in the sleeves of the doublet. An elaborate gold chain that would have looked more at home on the broad shoulders of a Flemish burgher completed the costume.
On his head he sported a red woolen cap with the frivolous sprig of broom.
“Probably brought a supply of the weed with him,” Gallien muttered.
The royal pair avoided each other’s gaze and looked more like an estranged mother and son than a betrothed couple.
The matronly harridan, clad in a ghastly bright red gown, followed in their wake, her nose in the air as if she were the Queen of England, her purple wimple towering over her head. She reeked of aged flesh and some perfume, though a bath might have been more effective.
Once everyone was seated and the introductory formalities of welcome observed, a feast was served that Gallien judged more sumptuous than any other meal eaten there before that he could recall, and there had been many elaborate banquets.
The immaculately groomed servers were resplendent in their green tabards with the Ellesmere crest. The mutton meatballs were excellent and the roast chicken glazed with eggs delectable, but Gallien had no appetite.
Dozens of multicolored boars’ heads made an appearance, the iron pans in which they reposed held aloft by brawny lads. He wondered if any boar still roamed Ellesmere’s forests. His father had forbidden his participation in the hunting he loved, as a penance.
The Ellesmere signature dish of rainbow trout, handed down from a long-ago cook at Montbryce Castle, was the pièce de resistance, and everyone sighed as the succulent juices of the golden baked apple flesh of the pommes d’orées dripped from their mouths.
Maud wrinkled up her nose in distaste when offered the renowned Montbryce apple brandy, brought from Robert’s cellars in Normandie. Gallien noted his father’s disgust at the insult.
Sweat trickled into Geoffrey’s red hair under the weight of his cap. He guzzled his tumbler of brandy and promptly asked for another.
Gallien watched with cold detachment.
Definitely not the stuff kings are made of.
But then what else to expect from an Angevin?
~~~
For a sennight, Gallien struggled to hold his tongue, until Maud and Geoffrey’s entourage disappeared over the horizon. Standing on the battlements next to his father, buffeted by a chilly wind, he raked his hand through his hair, surprised it had not gone even whiter.
“Dieu! The woman is a shrew—and Lady Ermintrude, what a battle axe! Geoffrey the Handsome is a spoiled child. His laugh is enough to wake the dead.”
His father turned to look at him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “You are absolutely right, mon fils. I tremble at the prospect of her and that boy on the throne. His disdain of Normans, especially his betrothed, was blatant. Their mutual dislike does not augur well for a peaceful reign.”
Gallien gaped at this father. Before he could reply, Baudoin tightened his grip on his son’s shoulder. “For the moment we do nothing. Maud believes us loyal to her. I am proud of your restraint. Let us wait and see what the future holds. Henry will not live forever, but I urge you to be more discreet in future. We’ve had a narrow escape. Now I’m for the indoors, before I freeze to death.”
Gallien was left alone to stare at his father’s retreating back.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“What have we here?”
Peri came close to dropping the hateful receptacle, her heart racing as sweat broke out on every part of her body. She dared not turn around to see who had addressed her. She recognized the voice, though it had been a year since she had first set eyes on Geoffrey Plantagenet at Comte Fulk’s castle. At last he had come to Westminster!
Her mind raced with a thousand thoughts on what to do with the offending pot. She thanked the saints it contained only liquid for once. Slowly, she turned. The contents sloshed alarmingly as she attempted to curtsey. “Milord Geoffrey,” she rasped, feeling her face redden at the sight of his tight hose.
Geoffrey stepped back, eyeing her burden with a smirk. “They would choose the Angevin for such an odious task.”
He had remembered her.
She fluttered her eyelashes. “You remember me, milord.”
“Of course,” Geoffrey boomed, picking his teeth with his little finger. “How to forget? You were one of the prettiest things ever to visit my father’s castle. It was my suggestion you come here as Maud’s lady-in-waiting. I wanted friendly faces around me in this Norman court when I am obliged to be here on visits such as these.”
Indignation pecked at her. It was thanks to Geoffrey she carried excrement around Westminster Palace. But then the full impact of his words dawned on her. Not only had he noticed her, he had wanted her near him. He held a tendresse for her.
She was tempted to fling the chamber pot to the floor and rush to embrace him, confess her love, but at that moment Lady Ermintrude rounded the corner. Peri had to be gone before the dragon saw her or some penalty was sure to ensue. She bowed her head. “I beg leave to hasten away to complete my task, milord. But be aware that I noticed you at your father’s castle too.”
He laughed loudly, drawing Ermintrude’s eye. “Of course you did. I’m Geoffrey the Handsome.”
~~~
Two days later, Geoffrey accosted Peri in an isolated corridor. It was puzzling that he would be in this part of the palace where usually only lowly noblewomen were to be found. He came close, reaching beneath her veil to twirl his fingers in her hair. She pulled away. “Milord Geoffrey. It’s not seemly. We are not married.”
Geoffrey snorted. “Nor will we ever be, my sweet. I’m shackled to the haughty Maud, but that does not prevent us having fun.”
“F-fun?” she stammered. Her sister did not know the meaning of the word and she had no brother. How did one have fun with a boy?
She gasped as he tightened his grip on her hair and brushed the knuckles of his other hand over one nipple. Warmth flooded her. She feared her knees might buckle.
“Isn’t that fun?” he teased.
Her heart raced. He played a dangerous game. She had craved his attention, but this was foolhardy. She stepped away from him, fear pulsing in her throat.
Anger clouded his eyes. “Does my touch offend you?”
Tears welled. “Non, milord, but you are betrothed to a queen.”
Geoffrey laughed so loudly she was sure someone would come running. “Maud is an old woman. There won’t be any fun with her.”
Peri’s wild imaginings of happiness with Geoffrey had been filled with smiles, kisses on the hand, sharing the heady perfume of a rose, walking by a lovely lake, whispering secrets. Fondling her breasts in a public place had played no part in her dreams.
Voices intruded. Geoffrey gave a courtly bow and kissed her hand. “I shall find you again, my little Angevin.”
With that he was gone.
~~~
He dogged her for several days, oozing charm, growing bolder. She dreaded the sight of the jaunty cap that he never seemed to take off. It was a relief that he usually crossed her path when she was carrying the loathsome chamber pot. Then he waved her on with a smirk on his face. “À bientôt, sweeting.”
There were too many opportunities during the day when she was not fulfilling her duties as chambermaid and bientôt came all too soon. There seemed to be no escape.
She shivered when he drew his finger along her lip. “I will be leaving on the morrow. Will you give me some token to take back to Anjou? Something to remember you by.”
She racked her brain. “I have no token, milord.”
To her consternation, he grabbed her hips, moulding his body to hers. The slight bulge always evident in his tight leggings pushed against her most private place. “I can think of the perfect token,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear.
Shame washed over her. She wanted Geoffrey’s courtly love, not a groping in shadowed hallways.
She shoved him away and fled to the sound of his laughter.
~~~
Ermintrude patted Philippa de Grosmont’s head. “Well done, child. You were right to bring this news to me.”
Philippa preened. “I knew you would be concerned. After all, she is an Angevin, and it’s plain she has set her sights on Geoffrey the Handsome.” She lowered her voice, cupping her hand to her mouth. “They were acquainted with each other in Anjou.”
Ermintrude watched the girl swish away down the corridor, saying a silent prayer of thanks for jealousy and meanness of spirit. Invariably over the years the combination had prompted ladies-in-waiting to tattle on each other. No doubt once Peridotte de Pontrouge was removed, Philippa de Grosmont would take her place in Geoffrey’s attentions. He pursued any young girl who crossed his path. But wasn’t that the way of youth? She sighed, remembering a certain young man when she was five and ten—
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