Devil's Brood (82 page)

Sensing that his audience was growing restive, Henry moved to the center of the solar. He’d not been looking forward to this, sure that he’d encounter initial opposition from Richard and Eleanor. Now, though, he realized that his reluctance had deeper roots, that he was loath to bestow upon another what had always been Hal’s. He recognized the illogic of it, for he knew that Richard would be a better king than Hal. At least his brain knew it, but his heart was another matter. There was an awful finality about the declaration, as if he were throwing one last shovel of dirt upon his son’s grave.

He’d never had much patience for sentimentality, though, especially his own. “I am sure that what I am about to say will come as no surprise,” he said, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. “I intend to convene a great council and announce to the lords of the realm that Richard will be king upon my death.”

Richard was not sure what response was expected of him, and he wondered why things always had to be so awkward with his father. To say “Thank you” seemed inappropriate, but it also seemed ungracious to say nothing at all. “I will do my best to meet your expectations. I’ll not let you or my mother down,” he said, sending a smile winging Eleanor’s way. She smiled back, and he was grateful that she could be here for this moment.

“I am sure that you will be a good king,” Henry said, with a smile of his own. “It is a bittersweet bequest I am giving you, though. You’ll have a vast, unquiet empire to rule. Aquitaine alone would be enough for any man, for your mother’s barons are as perverse and faithless a lot as can be found in all of Christendom. But you’ll also have to govern an island kingdom, as well as Normandy, Anjou, Touraine, and Maine.”

“Enough to keep me busy for certes,” Richard agreed, not sure where his father was going with this. Neither was Eleanor, and she was watching Henry with a small frown creasing her forehead.

“After giving the matter much thought,” Henry continued, “I think I have come up with a way to ease your burdens whilst still safeguarding your borders. I fear that Aquitaine is going to take up so much of your time and energy that you’ll run the risk of neglecting your other domains. You’ll have a far more successful reign if you relinquish the governance of Aquitaine to your brother Johnny.”

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!

A
FTER 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 Angoulême. 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 for 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.

R
ICHARD 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.

A
MARIA 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.