“You’ll not blame me if you end up arse-deep in mud?” he warned, and when Richard insisted that he’d not care if he broke an arm, Hal grinned and beckoned his brother to follow.
It never occurred to either Henry or Eleanor to object; they took it for granted that Richard would suffer numerous injuries while learning the use of weapons. Hastily mounting his gelding, Richard listened intently as Hal showed him how to tuck the lance under his right arm and hold it steady against his chest so that it inclined toward the left. It wasn’t often that their sons displayed such a cooperative spirit, and they both took pleasure in this rare moment of brotherly harmony.
Richard was an accomplished rider for his age. He had no experience in handling a ten-foot lance, though, and in his first try, he missed the target altogether, much to the amusement of the watching youths. On his second attempt, he managed to strike the edge of the shield, and was then struck in turn by the swinging sandbag, which tumbled him down into the mud. Hal and his friends laughed so hard that they were almost in tears, but their laughter gave way to grudging approval when Richard bounded onto his feet, his mud-plastered face lit with a wide grin. “I want to try it again,” he said. “I think I’m getting the hang of it!”
Henry had led Eleanor over to a nearby cart, helping her up into the seat for more comfortable viewing. She was not surprised when he chose to stand, for he’d always found it difficult to sit still for more than a few moments at a time, and against her will, she remembered their first time alone-seated together in a garden arbor on a rain- darkened Paris afternoon-remembered how she’d wondered what it would be like to feel all that energy deep inside her.
“So, tell me,” she said abruptly. “What bad news did Barre and the archdeacon bring back from the papal court?”
Henry’s eyes were on Richard, who’d just taken another bone-bruising fall. Wincing, he said fondly, “That lad may have no common sense, but by God, he has pluck!” Glancing over his shoulder at Eleanor, he confided, then, that the news was very bad indeed.
“It was politely phrased, but the threat was lurking just beneath the surface courtesy. Alexander will not pressure Becket to accept more reasonable terms. He will, however, absolve me from my oath to give the saintly Thomas the Kiss of Peace. Nothing like an unsolicited generosity. He is appointing yet more envoys, this time the Archbishop of Rouen and the Bishop of Nevers. And if I do not make peace with Becket within forty days, England will be placed under an interdict.”
“You seem to be taking it rather well,” Eleanor observed skeptically, and he gave her an amused look that confirmed all her suspicions.
“The Pope and that bastard Becket think they have found a lever to use against me. They know how important it is to me to have Hal crowned and they think they can extort concessions from me as the price for that coronation.”
Eleanor could not fault his logic. “So what do you have in mind?”
Hal had just struck the shield off-center, ducking low to avoid the sandbag’s counterblow, and Henry let out a raucous cheer before turning his attention again to his wife. “What makes you think I have something in mind?”
“Nigh on two decades of marriage,” she riposted and earned herself an appreciative smile.
“Well… it occurred to me that this particular lever was more of a double-edged sword.”
“I asked for an explanation, Harry, not an epigram.”
Henry grinned. “Sheathe your claws, love, I’m getting to it. It is quite simple. I realized that Hal’s coronation matters almost as much to Becket as it does to me… to us. As jealous as he is of Canterbury’s prerogatives, how do you think he’d react if Hal were crowned by someone else… say, the Archbishop of York? It would drive him well nigh mad, and he’d be desperate to re-crown Hal, lest a dangerous precedent be set, one that elevated the diocese of York over Canterbury.”
Eleanor understood now what he meant to do. It was shrewd and bold and ruthless and might well work. She studied his face pensively, thinking that these were the very qualities she’d first found so attractive in him; thinking, too, that she must never forget what a formidable enemy he could be. “You are willing to defy the Pope on this? You know Becket has persuaded him that only Canterbury’s archbishop has the right to crown a king.”
Henry’s smile was complacent. “Ah, but you’ve forgotten that I still have in my possession a letter from the Holy Father in which he gives me permission to have my heir crowned by whomever I choose.”
“That letter was dated June of God’s Year 1161, if my memory serves,” she said sharply, irritated by how smug he sounded.
“Yes… but the Pope never notified me that it was revoked.”
“You are taking a great risk, Harry,” she said and he shrugged.
“It is what I do best, love.”
She could not argue with that. “Since you sent for me, I assume I have a part to play. What would you have me do?”
“I plan to leave for England as soon as possible. Once there, I shall take the necessary steps for Hal’s coronation. I want him to remain here with you to allay suspicions. But have him ready to sail as soon as you get word from me. I also want you to keep a close watch on the ports, to do whatever you must to make sure that none of Becket’s banns or prohibitions reach English shores. I’ve already talked to Richard de Humet about this and he knows what I want done.”
Eleanor did not appreciate having a watchdog, even one as competent as the Constable of Normandy. Had it escaped Harry’s notice that she’d been governing Aquitaine quite capably in his absence? She had no doubts whatsoever that she could rule as well as any man. Granted, she could not take to arms and capture rebel castles as Harry so often had to do. But mayhap her Poitevin lords would not be so defiant if not for his heavy-handed Angevin ways.
She gave no voice to her grievance, though, knowing it would serve for naught. Her husband was not a man to relinquish even a scrap of power if he could help it. Passing strange that he seemed so unconcerned about elevating Hal to a kingship. Did it never occur to him that Hal might not be content as his puppet, that the lad might want authority to accompany his exalted new rank? Or did Harry just take it for granted that his will would always prevail?
But in this, they were in agreement, for she, too, wanted to see their sons made secure in their inheritances. “You need not worry, Harry,” she said. “Even if Becket gets wind of what you’re planning, no messenger of his will set foot on English soil, not unless the man can walk on water.”
Their eldest son had switched his attention from the quintain and was making a run at the rings, braided circles of rope hung from the branches of a gaunt, winter-stripped tree. As Hal deftly hooked one of the rings onto the point of his lance, Henry and Eleanor exchanged a smile of parental pride. Echoing Henry’s praise, Eleanor agreed that Hal’s skill at this maneuver was indeed impressive. “During our stay at Caen, he never stopped talking about the glories of the tourney, and now I see why. He is good enough to win on his own merits, king’s son or not.”
Henry did not share the common enthusiasm for tournaments, thought they were a waste of time at best and an inducement to civil unrest at worst. “Do not encourage him in such foolishness, Eleanor. It is not as if he has to earn his way, like that young knight of yours, Marshal. You brought him along, did you not?”
“Will? Yes, he is in the great hall.” She glanced at him curiously, for he never made casual conversation. “Why?”
“I was thinking that he would be an ideal choice to watch over Hal. From what you’ve told me, he has a good head on his shoulders, could rein in Hal’s youthful follies whilst tutoring him well in the arts of war.”
She agreed that Will would be a good choice, although she felt a prickle of resentment that Henry felt so free to appropriate one of her household knights without so much as a by-your-leave. Will Marshal would have made a fine tutor for Richard, too.
“Richard will miss Will’s company,” she said composedly, “for he’s gotten right fond of Marshal. Speaking of Richard… it might be advisable to make a public acknowledgment of his right to Aquitaine now that you plan to crown Hal.”
Henry had expected her to make such a suggestion and he was amused that he could read her so well. Her partiality toward their second son was obvious to all but the stone-blind. But he was willing to indulge it, for Richard would make a good duke for Aquitaine. He was fortunate indeed that his realms were vast enough to provide for all of his sons. Well… for Hal, Richard, and Geoffrey. There was still the little lad, John, whom he’d dubbed John
