Gifts of the Queen (16 page)

'No secrets then, only what I know or guess. I have told you many times that the Norman barons are bred for war; they crave war as a starving man craves meat. Now Henry's lordship over them has been too harsh for their taste. For one thing, if they do not jump to his commands, he is more than capable of pulling their castles about their heads, which does not please them you can be sure. They like to fight only if they win. To topple Henry from his Norman dukedom would more than satisfy them, and Henry's brother gives them the excuse they have been looking for. Henry's brother is younger and suffers from a common younger brother's complaint, the lack of land. So now he lays claim to all of Henry's French lands that Henry inherited, and the Norman barons will support him in his rebellion. Both Henry and the rebels will seek my help (why else should Sir Renier come here on Henry's behalf?). But both sides, to be blunt, would prefer I be unable to fight at all. And no one wants Sieux rebuilt; much better for them if we are finished as a power in central France. When the truth be learned that Sieux is already partway restored, and I sufficiently recovered of my wounds to be more than capable of defending it, why, both sides may have to pause and reconsider what they will do next.

'As for Sieux, my intention for it is simple, too. It is an idea I have come late to understand, but my grandfather, Raymond, maintained that, just as Sieux was situated between north and south, so in policy, it should act as a balance between contending sides. Raymond was considered a wise man in his day, noted for his diplomatic skill. At the start of the English civil wars, he tried to keep a neutrality between King Stephen and the Angevins. It was I who, for my pains, broke his rule by siding with King Stephen. For my pains, say I. Dearly have I paid for them, that Henry should have thought to have revenge on me. But if I can. I'll hold the balance in France again, maintain Earl Raymond's neutrality. Ann, I know these Norman lords; they fight to serve themselves. Let Henry's brother take note of that.'

'Who is this brother,' I asked, 'how called?'

'You may well ask. Soon all of us will know him. Geoffrey Plantagenet, his father's name, whom they say in all things else he is like. Geoffrey
le Bel
was his father called, the fairest man in all of France, and of all men the most treacherous. Now Geoffrey, the son, claims the right to his brother's lands, and to Henry's titles, even those of Count of Anjou and Maine. The way of that is strange, too. Count Geoffrey, on returning from a successful expedition to the French court, full of triumph then, still in his prime and young to be father to these sons, he plunged into the river Seine. The sun was hot, he took a chill.' Raoul grinned again. 'We know the consequences of bathing in a lake,' he said. 'Count Geoffrey's were not so pleasant for him. He died. But before his death he wrote a will, or rather, not knowing how to write, had the monks where he lay pen it for him. In this will, he left to Henry, his oldest son, as is just, the paternal lands of Anjou and Maine. But if Henry were to inherit England, which seemed most like, then the second son, this Geoffrey Plantagenet, was to get them instead. The nub of the whole affair lies here. For when Count Geoffrey died, Henry was away hunting, a dutiful son, in faith, to follow the deer while his father dies, but then hunting is his most cherished pursuit. He returned to find the will was writ and the monks clamoring for him to agree to its terms. For Count Geoffrey had made them swear never to lay him underground until Henry had accepted it.'

I shivered.

'Yes,' he agreed, 'a cruel wish, made and sealed by cruel men. Myself, I think it strange that the Count of Anjou would sign away lands from an eldest son. William of Normandy, first of the line, left Normandy to his eldest son; it was the second son who got England, for England was counted the lesser of his possessions. Nor, to be frank, should Henry give up Maine and Anjou. Lacking them, his other lands in France are two halves of an eggshell, without the meat. But Henry made a mistake as well. Out of grief, or under threat of force, he agreed to accept the will. On the putrefying corpse he so swore, placed his hands on it in most holy oath. Henry has lived to regret that oath, but the younger Geoffrey holds him to it. Well, Geoffrey Plantagenet inherited three castles as a younger brother's share; in spite of Henry's solemn oath, Geoffrey might wait forever for the rest.

'And what is more, he'll lose those three castles too if he threatens Henry over them. But I will tell you two other things which Sir Renier, not knowing well either Normans or English, may not understand. One is that, even if Henry and his brother tear themselves to shreds, not a single English lord will help Henry in France. In England we have had war's reality; the man who would seek a pretext for it is nature's fool. That is my opinion, although you would accuse me of wanting war. And second, those Norman lords will never make a move again until the spring. They prefer to keep the winter months for their other loves such as hunt and feast. Too wet, too much mud, too cold for fighting, no profit for them until then. And, before the spring, Henry will have come back to France . . .'

'How can you be so sure?' I blurted out. 'Mewed up as we are, how can you know that? And what of the attack on us?'

My first question touched him on the raw. Beneath his faint sunburn, I think he flushed. His answer was steady, without rancor.

'I may live the part of a wandering knight,' he said. 'How did you call it, like a serf, but at King Louis's court I am a count. Word comes to me. My scouts bring news; sometimes even Louis sends it. We do not live so isolated as you think. As for the attack at Saint Purnace, it was neither well planned nor well placed. It had all the signs of a Norman plot, brute force and not much skill. Those Norman barons would have liked our gold. They need gold to pay rebellion's costs but, being greedy, thought to take you, too. Thank God they failed. So your squires, I think, already have explained. But remember that those Normans never make a move unless some great power backs them to give success. And this is something Sir Renier himself must have told you.' A reprimand this, if gently given.

'And now I will tell you why Henry will come to France, the truth—to do homage for all the lands he holds of King Louis; to be acknowledged by Louis as the overlord of all those lands and men and to show the world what is his. Such an open display of power is a challenge to Geoffrey Plantagenet, and will not please the barons who hope to support Geoffrey's claims. And there is one other person it will not please—Queen Eleanor. For Henry will also do homage to the French king for her lands in Aquitaine, and 
those
the queen had hoped to keep for herself. She will protect her lands as any vixen with her cubs.

'Now, what the queen and Sir Renier plan, I but guess at and Sir Renier may be simply gathering news. Yet I suspect the queen may regret having given us the means to rebuild Sieux, as much as Henry regrets having given us the cause. What her intentions are, better I think you do not know. And since kings and queens seldom keep faith long, unless at spear-point, better too, I think, to follow my grandfather's advice and steer clear of them.'

We had been riding forward all this while and were come almost to the castle gates. He turned his horse's head toward the village and paused. I bit a last question back, Suppose they force you to choose a side? Perhaps he guessed what was in my mind.

'Ann, trust me,' he said. 'If not this season's end, another one, or another, will see the building of Sieux complete. I'll not leave my French lands until that's fairly done. Nor for pride, if you will call it such, shall I go back to England because Henry commands. Let him beg for that. There's my revenge. I'll go when it pleases me. But do not you put your trust either in royal messages or royal gifts.' He hesitated. They say,' he said at last, 'that when Queen Eleanor left the French court, her marriage to Louis annulled and she hotfoot to reach the safety of her own city of Poitiers, she was ambushed on the way south by this Geoffrey Plantagenet. Ambushed or met by design, who knows. He claims she promised to marry him, and slept with him to seal her vow. He was only a boy, rash, reckless with ambition. She may have been as reckless herself.' He shrugged. 'Sir Renier would not have spoken of that either I am sure, yet it is commonly believed the queen became Geoffrey's lover as she had been his father's but weeks before and, on parting, promised him her hand. A second oath then, that has been broken to his great loss. But they say too that the queen feels she owes Geoffrey some recompense. They say she supports him.'

Raoul mused a while as if to let his words sink in. Perhaps they did, although, since the queen was my friend, I was not the one to harbor gossip against her. Nor Raoul the man to speak evil without cause. That at least I could have remembered. When I did, it was too late.

At last he roused himself. 'But while we wait until the spring,' he told me in his decisive way, 'I've no intent to become their plaything for them to bat between their paws. Neutrality does not mean sleeping in the sun. The more our enemies seek to use us, we'll use them.' He paused again to throw one last question out himself. 'You'd not return to Cambray without me then?' There was a new urgency in his voice, as if he had been debating with himself. Perhaps it was a point he was not easy on; perhaps he too had not slept last night.

'Ann,' he said, almost to himself, 'this has been a special day. No man can feel a man who is not fit to guard his family or his friends. No,' as I tried to interrupt, 'it is so. How shall I forget the way my men were used, my companions betrayed, my wife seized? God has given me back my strength. I pray to make good use of it. But there is no other answer to Henry than what I gave. And one day shall Saint Purnace be repaid.'

He framed my face between his hands. 'Nor have I forgot my son's birth. It is branded on my mind, white hot. By the Mass, I thought you gone, he gone, and all my hopes turned to ash. I've not thought much on sons,' he said, almost shyly now, 'a man does not unless they come. Then it is another sort of bond.'

He paused one last time, almost broodingly he spoke, 'Nor would I want another such memory to my charge. The old she-wife spoke true if that is all the payment there is for lust.'

'Not so,' I cried, 'do not think of it. It is God's will, the lot of womenfolk. I have put it aside, so must you.'

He roused himself, looked musingly at me. 'I should grow used to wife and child,' he said, 'they bring new thoughts as well as cares. Well then, let there be a
pax 
between us, you to your cares, I mine.' He kissed me full upon the lips, the kiss of peace. A generous man he was in many ways. But proud, stubborn as steel. Such men will not bend, must break and tear. 'One day soon, I swear,' he said, 'you shall play the role of Countess of Sieux and I alone to savor it. Meanwhile, if those Norman lords come trotting along, clamoring at our gates, with the Sire de Boissert at their head, just smile at them. You'll send them stumbling back to their fat wives, too full of fantasies to think of plots. Let them eat out their hearts for envy's greed. I'd rather they covet me my lands than my wife.'

He let go the end of the cloak; I dropped to the ground, as easily as he let fall those names, those tales, of the men who were to walk into our lives and make such havoc of them. And as easily, you see, he gave teeth to what Sir Renier had said, so easily did I defer to him; a woman's world is small, a man rules his own. What matter if it be for love or profit or expediency, we be but pawns to men's plans.

He turned and cantered off. I saw him give his half-salute as he clattered through the ruined gates; his men clashed to arms as he went past. One free day then was all we had. But one to be remembered, a golden bead on its knotted chain; now was the weight of watch and ward returned. Sometimes since I have thought, In another place, another time, there should have been a different life for us; that if fate had not pulled us on, and if we could have turned aside from it, from our appointed path, this story would have shown us in a new light. He might have told me all he hoped and feared; he might have found words to explain what those new thoughts and new ideas meant to him. He might even have voiced aloud his plans as I longed to hear. And, had I been less uncertain, less craving for love, less ill at ease in this strange world where I found myself, I might have known without his telling. But we cannot change. From birth, the chart is set. And, as a stone is cast into a lake, so do the ripples spread.

I should hasten on through the winter months. They were not easy ones, although, before their doldrums closed us round, like a nest of ants we feverishly gathered in the harvesting, stored it in the lower levels of the towers. No need to have an army to root us out; starvation could kill us as readily. And before Master Edward and his men returned to Saint Purnace, he had carpenters shore up flooring at ground level and frame a sort of roof over each of those same towers. Thatched with reeds, they were a fire threat, but at least they gave us floor and roof. In one of the towers we posted the castle guard, foot soldiers, menials. In the second tower the child and I, Lord Raoul, his household knights, and my village maids all cramped together like peas in pod. That's drawback to castle life: its lack of privacy. I had been spoiled. Even at Cambray we had been accustomed to our own chamber place, and it was not one third the size of Sieux; and Sedgemont had had its own women's bower. Still, at least we had a bed of sorts, hung with sacks since the curtains were lost. The village women sat up their looms at one side, there was a central hearth with smoke hole in the thatch, and we used the scaffolding for benches and tables.

The little Robert came to enjoy castle life and to know his father as he ought. He learned to crawl on those rush covered floors; his first laugh, the first full-throated he ever gave, was when his father set him on his wolfhound's back. He buried his face in its tawny neck, drummed his red stocking heels into its sides. Many were the hours my squires spent with him, but when his father passed, his face lit up. And so did Raoul's. Little by little, cautiously, as if still awed by a strange and delicate thing, Raoul began to make friends with his son.