“I’ve a right to speak my mind, Harry!”
“If your mind was a well, it would be bone-dry,” Henry said scathingly, and to Geoff’s secret shame, he was the first to look away. He did not lack for reasons to detest his brother, but this was the most compelling reason of all-that his will was always the weaker of the two, the first to break.
Saving face as best he could, he muttered that he was going off to bed. As much as he wanted to storm out in high dudgeon, he lost his nerve at the last moment, too shaken and miserable to dare to defy mother and brother both, and bade them goodnight with a poor pretense of civility. When they did not object, he felt as if he’d made his escape from enemy territory, and yet he was perversely aggrieved, too, that they’d been willing to let him go.
“Mama…” Will had far more freckles than either of his older brothers, scattered profusely across an open, appealing face, one that was not structured for secrets or scowls. He was the most equable of her sons, good- natured and accommodating, neither as moody as Henry nor as high-strung as Geoff. Henry and Geoff had inherited their fair share of Geoffrey’s sardonic humor, and a goodly portion, too, of the infamous Angevin temper. But not Will. He was an anomaly, an innocent in a domain in which innocence did not often thrive, and while Maude’s deepest love was reserved for Henry, her strongest protective urges were for Will. He was regarding her now with anxious blue eyes, slouching down further and further in his seat, like a turtle withdrawing into its shell. “Mama… Geoff was not right, was he? You were not glad when Papa died…?”
“No!” Maude’s protest was involuntary, indignant. She stepped toward her youngest, meaning to reassure him, when she happened to glance over at Henry. He, too, was watching her intently, even warily, and as their eyes met, she suddenly understood about the funeral.
It had been done very fast, allowing enough time for Henry’s brothers to ride from Angers to Le Mans, but not for her to travel the much greater distance from Rouen. She’d not comprehended the reason for the rush, as Henry’s claim to Anjou was uncontested; there were no rival claimants racing him to Angers. But now she knew, and she was sorry she did. Henry had been afraid to give her a chance to attend Geoffrey’s funeral, afraid that she’d have refused.
“No, Will, I was not gladdened by your father’s death. I will not lie to you, lad. There was a time-early in our marriage-when I might have been. But that was so long ago, Will, a lifetime ago. I was truly shocked by Geoffrey’s death…and pained by it.” If the pain had been more for her sons than for Geoffrey, she saw no reason to confess it. Will did not reply, but his shy half-smile told her that she’d found the right words, said what he needed to hear.
Turning then toward her firstborn, she reached out, letting her hand rest lightly on his shoulder. “I would have come, Henry,” she said softly. “I swear to you that I would have come.” He nodded and ducked his head, but not before she saw the tears shining behind his lashes.
“ You look weary, my lady.” Minna’s fingers were not as nimble as they’d once been, but it never occurred to her to let one of Maude’s younger attendants tend to her needs; nor had it occurred to Maude. She tilted her head back so Minna could finish unfastening her braids, just as she’d done every night for more years than either woman could remember.
“I am tired,” Maude acknowledged, “too tired to sleep. I am afraid, Minna, that Geoff is slipping out of reach again. He is so angry, needing to blame someone for his father’s death, and I suppose it is either me or the Almighty.”
“You often despaired of ever breaking through all his walls,” Minna pointed out, “but he was slowly letting some of his defenses down, and he will again. Every freeze is followed by a thaw, madame.”
“I hope so, Minna, how I hope so. But I am not as confident as you, not about Geoff. You see, he could never forgive me for not loving Geoffrey. And now…now he cannot forgive me for loving Henry.”
As candid as they usually were with each other, Minna had learned to weigh her words when discussing Maude’s sons. She was very fond of Maude’s youngest, for Will had a singular sweetness, a naif-like charm that was uniquely his own. Henry, she adored. Even at his wayward worst, he was still “Madame’s true son,” whose destined kingship would redress all of her lady’s struggles, all of her suffering.
But she viewed Geoff with a jaundiced German eye, seeing a spoiled young lordling with an overabundance of grievances and no sense of obligation or duty, only a sense of entitlement. That was an opinion, however, that she could never share with Geoff’s mother, and she concentrated, instead, upon brushing out Maude’s hair, still a deep, rich black, although her next birthday would be her fiftieth.
“They were afraid that I’d welcomed Geoffrey’s death,” Maude confided. “I swore to them that I had not, and that was the truth, Minna. I’d be the last one to doubt Henry’s abilities, but he is still so young. Geoffrey could have done what I cannot-keep the peace in Normandy whilst Henry seeks to overthrow Stephen. I can fight for my son, but not on the battlefield. It always comes back to that. Henry had need of his father. There was a time when I was not willing to admit that, but-”
The knock was so soft that Maude was not sure at first what she’d heard. When it came again, Minna hastened over and opened the door. Henry paused on the threshold at sight of his mother’s unbound hair. “You’re getting ready for bed. I’d not realized it was so late.”
Before he could back out, Maude beckoned him in. “I always have time to talk with you.” Minna had already disappeared, conveniently remembering a sudden need for night wine. Reclaiming her seat, Maude watched her firstborn prowl restlessly about the chamber. “Is Will abed?”
Henry nodded. “It upset Will that Papa left Chinon and the other castles to Geoff, nothing to him. I explained that these castles had long been regarded as the rightful appanage of the House of Anjou’s younger son, that Papa was merely following family tradition, and it in no way meant that he’d favored Geoff. I did my best to assure Will of this, and I also assured him that he’d not be left to beg his bread. But I think it would help, Mama, to hear it from you, too.”
“I’ll speak to him tomorrow,” Maude promised. “I’ll remind him that once he is of age, we’ll find him an heiress to wed.”
“There is something else I want to discuss with you, Mama. It is about what happened in Paris.”
“I was wondering about that,” Maude admitted. “Why did you change your mind about relinquishing the Vexin?”
“I daresay you’ve heard the rumors about the French king’s troubled marriage. Well, the rumors are true. Louis has decided to divorce his wife. And once he does, I mean to marry Eleanor myself.”
“Good God!” Maude sat back in her chair, openmouthed. “You’ve always been one for surprises, Henry, but this time you’ve truly outdone yourself!”
“Thank you,” he said dryly, “assuming that was meant as a compliment?”
“You sound very sure that this will come to pass. I gather, then, that you and Eleanor have reached some sort of understanding?”
The corner of Henry’s mouth twitched. “I think you can safely say that.”
“No wonder you were willing to give up the Vexin! You do realize, though, what a hornet’s nest you’ll be stirring up? You could have no better stepping-stone to the English throne than Aquitaine. But the French king will view this marriage as unforgivable treachery.”
“So Papa said, too,” Henry conceded.
“You and Eleanor-who would ever have guessed?”
“Let’s hope no one does, Mama, not until we’re safely wed.”
She nodded. “Henry…you know how much I want you to be King of England. But I also want you to be happy. For the highborn, marriage is a practical matter, indeed, with no allowance made for sentiment. A political union. A means of gaining territory. A way to forge an alliance. No one ever asks if the couple is mismatched, if they are likely to be compatible. But believe me, those are not frivolous questions. You may be seeking a consort and wedding a duchess, but you’ll be living with a woman, and now is the time to consider her. I know you want Aquitaine. Do you also want Eleanor?”
He regarded her impassively, for he’d inherited Geoffrey’s irritating knack of being able to mask his thoughts when he chose. “Yes,” he said, “I want her.”
“Well…then I can give you more than my approval. I can give you my blessings, too.”
“Truly?” Henry’s smile offered her a sudden glimpse of sunlight breaking through the clouds, dispelling the oppressive mourning gloom. “Credit where due, Mama, you can surprise, too. Papa was so sure you’d have misgivings about the marriage!”
A tart rejoinder hovered on her lips, that Geoffrey had not known her nearly as well as he’d imagined. It went
