For Richard, the shock was so intense that the impact was actually physical. Feeling as if he’d just been punched in the stomach, he found himself struggling for breath. Why did Maman not warn me? But one glance at his mother, white-faced and stunned, told him that she’d been ambushed, too. He cut his gaze sharply then toward Geoffrey, suspecting his brother’s fine hand in this duplicity. Geoffrey and Constance were obviously dumbfounded, though. As Richard’s eyes met Eleanor’s again, she sent him a mute, urgent message, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. He understood her warning, but he was not sure he was capable of responding as she wanted, so great was his outrage.
He got help then from an unexpected source, his youngest brother. John had been caught by surprise, too, inhaling the wine he’d been about to swallow, which brought on a sudden coughing fit. Henry crossed to his side and thumped him helpfully on the back, joking, “It is not as bad as all that, lad. It could be worse-I could be sending you to Ireland!”
John was flushed, partly from his coughing and partly from embarrassment. But his eyes were glowing as he looked up at his father. “Aquitaine for me? Truly?”
“Truly,” Henry said with a smile and then looked expectantly at his eldest son.
By now Richard was in control of himself again. “I must differ with you, Papa,” he murmured, “for I’d say this most definitely qualifies as a surprise!”
Henry was encouraged by that wry response, for he’d not been sure how Richard would take the proposal. As little as he liked to admit it, the workings of this son’s brain were a mystery to him. “It will change nothing,” he said swiftly, “other than sparing you the vexation of daily dealings with those lunatic southerners. You will still be the liege lord of the duchy, and Johnny will, of course, do homage to you for it, just as Geoffrey will do homage to you for Brittany once you are king.”
So far this was going better than Henry had expected, for there’d been no overt protests from Eleanor either. But he knew she was clever enough to see that Aquitaine’s importance had diminished considerably with Hal’s death. To a man about to inherit an empire, her duchy was merely one demesne amongst many, a part of Richard’s legacy instead of the whole. Richard must expand his horizons, and his mother could help him greatly in making that transition, in learning to think like a king, not a duke.
“I do not want to do anything rash,” Richard said, “so I will need time to consider it. You have opened my eyes tonight, though, for the idea had never occurred to me before. I will have to consult with my barons, of course, the sooner the better. News like this cannot be kept secret for long, and they need to hear it from me, not from rumors or gossip.”
Henry glanced over at John’s rapt, upturned face. Richard was right; there was not a sixteen-year-old boy alive who could keep news like this to himself. “Do you think your barons will be receptive to the idea?”
“I think they are likely to respond favorably.” Why wouldn’t they? Exchanging a battle-seasoned soldier for a green stripling who’s never even bloodied his sword? God’s Legs, they’d not be able to believe their good luck! And the old man knows it, too, damn him. He knows full well that they’d thank God fasting for a chance like this. Does he think I am as big a fool as his precious Hal?
Richard met his father’s eyes, his gaze steady. “They might balk, though, if they felt that we were trying to shove this down their throats. They have to believe they have the right to say yea or nay, whether they do or not.”
Henry could not fault his son’s reasoning; none were touchier about their honor than those mulish, overweening troublemakers who kept Aquitaine in a constant state of turmoil. He would have liked to resolve it here and now, but he was pragmatic enough to see that it had to be done Richard’s way. No more than his vassals, Richard could not think this was being shoved down his throat. As it was, his son was being more responsive than Henry had dared hope, confirming his suspicions that Richard might welcome being unyoked from that seditious, querulous land now that he no longer needed it. And for the first time in years, Henry let himself think that they truly could restore their fragmented family harmony. They’d always see the mended cracks, of course, but what did that matter if the center held?
He turned his gaze, then, upon his wife, his eyes locking challengingly with hers. “Have you nothing to say about this, Eleanor? It would truly be a historic event to find you at a loss for words.”
“Richard is quite capable of speaking for himself,” she said coolly. “If he is content with this, then so am I. After all, John is my son, too.”
For the first time since Hal’s death, Henry experienced a surge of genuine joy. His spirits soaring, he ushered the others from the solar, declaring that they had reason for celebration. Geoffrey and Constance were the last to follow him. Geoffrey was feeling almost light-headed, dazzled by how fast Fortune’s Wheel could spin. This was not yet the time to discuss the evening’s events with Constance, but as his eyes met hers, he saw his own excitement reflected in their dark depths, and he marveled how well they understood each other, for the same thought was in both their minds. This changes everything!
After the evening meal was done, the trestle tables were removed from the hall and dancing began. Henry had given Eleanor the place of honor beside him on the dais, trumpeting their reconciliation with this public display of marital amity. It was also, Eleanor thought, an effective way to make sure she and Richard had no time alone. She did not doubt that her husband would have both of them under discreet surveillance, but his spies would be disappointed. Richard was not going to fall into that trap, would make sure to keep his distance until his departure on the morrow. She’d never been as proud of him as in the solar, watching him match wits with Henry, showing he could dissemble as convincingly as his sire.
As she thought back over the past few hours, she could feel her rage beginning to flare again, and she swiftly dampened it down, thankful that she’d had years of practice in learning patience, in learning to congeal dangerous furies in ice. There would be time later to indulge her wrath. Glancing at Henry through downcast lashes, she seethed in silence, still astounded that he would dare to meddle in her duchy so blatantly, dare to disinherit the son who’d been consecrated before men and God in solemn ceremonies at Poitiers and Limoges.
Becoming aware of Henry’s scrutiny, she raised an eyebrow in query, and he shifted in his seat so that they could converse quietly, without fear of eavesdroppers. “I continue to marvel,” he said, “at our accord this evening. It seems you can still surprise me after all these years, for I never knew you had such an accommodating nature.”
Even if she’d not caught his sarcasm, she’d have known better than to overplay her compliance; he’d never believe it if she was too docile or biddable. “I suppose it was too much to hope,” she said tartly, “that you’d have consulted me beforehand. What possible interest could I have, after all, in the succession to Aquitaine?”
“I should have talked with you first,” he conceded, but she was not mollified by that almost-apology, for words were cheap, especially his words. Leaning closer, he said earnestly, “I do not want you to think I did this to disparage or diminish Richard in any way. That was never my intent. His kingship is far more likely to flourish if he is not burdened with Aquitaine, for he will never be able to pacify your barons.”
Eleanor studied him with narrowed eyes. “What are you saying, Harry? That Richard has been a failure as Duke of Aquitaine?”
“Yes, I am saying that,” he admitted. “But hear me out. He has made mistakes that cannot be undone, has been too heavy-handed in his dealings with them. Look what happened when he arbitrarily tried to change the inheritance customs in Angouleme. He stirred up a rebellion that continues to smolder even today. I am not saying it was all his fault; he is young and still learning and they are vexing enough to try a saint’s patience. But he got off to such a bad start with them that there is no going back. There is too much bad blood there, and they are not ones fo
r forgiving and forgetting.”
Eleanor looked at him in disbelief. How could he be so logical, so practical, and so utterly wrong? How could he banish all emotion from the equation? There was truth in what he said, but did he never realize that Richard was deeply attached to Aquitaine? That he’d been raised from the cradle with the expectation that he would rule the duchy one day? That he’d spent the past eight years fighting and bleeding and struggling to put down rebellions and restore peace? These questions went unasked, of course, for she already knew the answers. He’d taken none of that into consideration, for he viewed their sons as pieces on a chessboard, to be moved hither and yon at his whims.
“Far be it from me to be a naysayer,” she said, “but if a brilliant battle commander like Richard cannot end their rebellions, how do you expect John to do so? You do not think he is rather young to be tossed into the lion’s den?”
“He’ll be seventeen in December,” he parried, “and I was ruling Normandy at that age. I understand that he’ll make mistakes, that he’ll need more experienced guidance, and I am willing to step in when needed.”
Yes, she thought grimly, I daresay you are. You’d turn John into a puppet prince, as you could not do with Richard. “I do have one concern,” she said. “What happens after Richard abdicates in John’s favor? What are you prepared to do for him, Harry? For the past eight years, he has governed Aquitaine. If you take that away, what do you give him in return? He’s not one to amuse himself on the tournament circuit like Hal. I would suggest that you turn Normandy or Anjou over to him. That would enable you to make use of his abilities and give him the purpose that he needs, for he’ll never be one to embrace an idle life of pleasure-no more than you would.”
“You make a valid point, Eleanor. I will give it some careful thought, for certes.”
I am sure you will, she jeered silently, knowing he’d never give up Normandy or Anjou to Richard. He could no more relinquish any of his power than he could fly. No, if he had his way, he’d keep Richard dancing attendance at his court, with no revenues or authority of his own. But this time you will not win, Harry. I will not let you unman Richard as you did Hal.
Richard departed the next day, ostensibly to consult with his barons. In the week that followed, Eleanor spent as much time as possible with Tilda and her grandchildren, for she did not know how Henry would react to their son’s defiance. While Richard was beyond his reprisal, she was not, and he might well send her back to England straightaway. She also sought out Geoffrey and John, determined to make the most of her relative freedom, but did her best to avoid her husband whenever possible, for the tentative rapprochement they’d reached in the past few years had gone up in smoke in the solar of Rouen’s ducal castle.
Amaria led a serving maid up the stairwell to the queen’s chamber. As she opened the door, she smiled at the sight before her. Eleanor and Tilda were playing a game of dice with John and Tilda’s young son Heinrich. They welcomed her boisterously when they saw that the serving maid carried a platter of cheese wafers and cups of cider. As Amaria passed them around, Heinrich boasted that “Uncle Johnny” had taught them a game called hazard.
“Hazard?” Amaria pretended to be shocked, to Heinrich’s delight. “But that is a game played in taverns and alehouses!”
“I know,” the boy grinned, “and we’ve been winning!”
“Indeed they have,” Eleanor agreed, with mock severity, pointing toward a pile of coins in the center of the table. “If I had a suspicious mind, I might wonder if some sleight of hand could be involved.”
Heinrich laughed and John smiled. “I seem to be on a winning streak these days,” he said cheerfully. “Are the Dukes of Aquitaine always lucky, my lady mother?”
Eleanor felt a pang of resentful regret that her husband had entangled John in his scheme. Her youngest was still very much a stranger to her; after these few days in his company, she could say only that he was clever and guarded and had inherited his share of the family’s sardonic humor. But she did know he’d been bedazzled by the prospect of gaining Aquitaine and he was in for a great disappointment.
They played another game of hazard, and John and Heinrich won again. They were still whooping and slapping hands when the door slammed open with enough force to startle them all. Henry came to an abrupt halt, for he’d been expecting to find Eleanor alone. Tilda and Heinrich welcomed him happily, but John flushed and jumped to his feet as if he’d been caught in a misdeed. Eleanor returned his gaze calmly and her sangfroid confirmed Henry’s suspicions.
After greeting them with strained affability, he explained that “I am sorry to interrupt your game, but I need to speak privately now with your mother and grandmother.” Eleanor made a playful grimace at “Grandmother,” to Heinrich’s amusement, and her nonchalance added more fuel to the flames of Henry’s rage. So she saw this as a joke, did she?
Heinrich was reluctant to end their fun, but Tilda had picked up on the tension in the chamber and she ushered her son out, with a troubled backward glance at her parents. John was already gone; he’d faded away as inconspicuously as that woodland fox. Amaria hesitated, not departing until Eleanor gave her a smile and a nod.
Eleanor helped herself, then, to more cider. “I take it you’ve heard from Richard?”
“Yes, I heard. He sent word that he will never relinquish Aquitaine, not as long as he draws breath. But you already knew that, did you not?”
“Of course.”
“I should have known this was your doing!”
“And how did I manage that? I am sure your spies told you that I was not alone with Richard from the time you sprang your ‘surprise’ until his departure the next morning. Did we communicate in code by thumping on the walls of our chambers? Smuggled secret messages to each other? Mayhap used Heinrich as our go-between?”
He was disconcerted by her defiance; it had been years since her claws had flashed like that. “If you did not plan this with Richard, how did you know he’d refuse?”
“How could you not know? By the Rood, Harry, how can you be so blind about your own sons?”
“I told you my reasons for wanting this. You seemed to think they made sense last week!”
“Yes, they made perfect political sense. But Richard’s love for Aquitaine is not political. It is visceral, in his blood and his bones. You might as well ask him to tear out his heart and give it over to you!”
“That is arrant nonsense! He’d still be liege lord of Aquitaine, would be losing nothing and gaining much. God’s Bones, woman, you are the blind one! Can you honestly say that you are pleased with his rule of the duchy? That you do not think he has antagonized his barons needlessly and spread the seeds of rebellion with his own hand?”
“I do not deny that he has made mistakes. But he is the Duke of Aquitaine, not an errant child. You cannot step in and slap his hand when you think he has blundered. For God’s sake, Harry, let him go! Your love for our sons is strangling them. Why can you not see that?”
“Why can you not see that I have to act for the good of our empire? I cannot just stand aside whilst our sons put my life’s work at risk. Aquitaine would be a constant thorn in Richard’s side, and turning it over to Johnny would benefit them both. A duchy is a small price to pay for a kingdom, and it troubles me greatly that Richard seems unable to understand that. If his judgment is so faulty-”
“Oh, enough!” Eleanor was on her feet, glaring at him across the table as if it were a battlefield. “You are such a hypocrite!”
His eyes darkened to a storm-sea grey. “And how is that?” he asked, his voice dangerously soft.
“You refuse to understand why Richard is unwilling to give up Aquitaine, but you are no less unwilling to surrender control of Normandy or Anjou. If you’d turned either one over to Hal, he’d never have rebelled. But you could not do that, could you?”
“Because I could not trust him to govern himself, much less a duchy!”
“I see. So you have it in mind to rule from
the grave? Please, enlighten me-how exactly do you plan to do that?”
But Henry had heard nothing after her gibe about Hal. “So what are you saying?” he demanded hotly. “Are you blaming me for Hal’s death? You think I drove him to rebellion?”
She heard the anguish underlying his rage, and her own fury ebbed away, leaving her sickened and shaken by the wreckage they’d made of their marriage and their world. “No,” she said wearily, “of course I do not blame you for Hal’s death, Harry. I did my part, too, as did Geoffrey and Richard and Hal himself. Hal most of all, for he was a man grown, a man who made his own choices and, to his credit, recognized that at the end…”
Henry’s throat had constricted, for thoughts of Hal’s last hours were still more than he could bear. “He died alone,” he said huskily, “and it need not have been like that…”
“He was not alone, Harry. Will Marshal and his friends were with him-”
“But I was not!” He swung away, keeping his back to her as he fought to regain control of his emotions. “Hal wrote me a letter on his deathbed,” he said, after a heavy silence. “Would you like to read it?”
Eleanor blinked in surprise. “Yes, I would, very much.”
He nodded and then surprised her further by turning toward the door. “Harry, wait!”
When he faced her again, she was shocked by how ravaged he looked. “What do you intend to do about Richard?”
After coming together as grieving parents, she’d hoped they could come together, too, to repair the tattered father-son bond before it was beyond salvaging. But he looked at her expressionlessly, his eyes as veiled and opaque as John’s. “I have not changed my mind,” he said. “I still think Richard needs to relinquish control of Aquitaine, and I will do all in my power to bring that about.”
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