“I wish you could have persuaded Maud to come with you.”
“She took Roger’s loss very hard,” Ranulf said quietly, and Henry nodded somberly, saying that they all had.
Ranulf still found it difficult to talk of Roger’s death, and nudged the conversation back to the subject of the French turmoil. “Maud told us that Philip of Flanders has been hovering over young Philippe like a hungry hawk, and Philippe has stopped listening to anyone else, including his mother and his uncles. Is it truly as bad as that?”
“Worse,” Henry said, and as they began to stroll along the cloisters walkway, he told Ranulf about the troubles at the French court. “Philippe is ruling as if his father were already dead, with the ever-helpful Philip there as guide and tutor. His first act was to dismiss all of Louis’s councilors and replace them with men of his choosing- or Philip’s, depending upon whom you believe. The lad is now in Flanders with Philip, waiting until Lent is over so that he may marry Isabelle of Hainault, Philip’s ten-year-old niece.”
Ranulf whistled. “How did Adele and her brothers react to that?”
“About as well as you’d expect. Adele was so disquieted that she began to fortify her dower lands. When Philippe heard that, he gave orders to seize her lands, and she felt threatened enough to flee to her brother Thibault in Blois.”
“Jesu,” Ranulf whispered. How could a family tear itself apart like this? Had the French learned nothing from Harry’s feuding with his sons? “Poor Louis…”
“Wait until you hear the rest, Ranulf. Hal and Geoffrey brought with them a truly amazing letter, from the French queen Adele and her brothers, the Archbishop of Rheims and the Counts of Blois and Sancerre, entreating me to come to their aid.”
Ranulf was dumbfounded. The houses of Blois and Anjou had been enemies even before Stephen of Blois had stolen the English crown from Henry’s mother. That they should now be seeking to ally with England’s king against their own son, nephew, and sovereign seemed utterly incomprehensible to him.
Henry read his thoughts easily enough, and smiled grimly. “I know, Uncle. The world has gone mad. I realized that as I stood in the crypt of Canterbury Cathedral and listened to the French king beg me to intercede with Thomas. After that, I did not think anything would surprise me. But I was wrong.”
Ranulf shook his head slowly. “What will you do, Harry?”
“Damned if I know.”
Abbot Joseph had turned over his private quarters to the king, and Henry and Geoffrey were seated in the abbot’s bedchamber, listening as Hal raged about the shameful way Louis was being treated.
“They even took away Louis’s chancery seal, Papa, so that he could not revoke any of Philippe’s acts! It is outrageous enough to dishonor an anointed king like that, but the man is Philippe’s father. How can he be such an ungrateful wretch?”
Henry was beginning to think that he was the only one still able to recognize or appreciate irony. But he noticed then that the corner of Geoffrey’s mouth was twitching, and it reassured him that at least one of his sons could see the madness of this moment. As their eyes met, Geoffrey smiled and shrugged, and to Henry, that rueful acknowledgment meant more than the formal public apologies he’d gotten from his sons at Michaelmas 1174.
“Marguerite is distraught,” Hal confided. “In truth, the blame does not lie as much with Philippe as it does with the Count of Flanders. He has the boy doing his bidding as if Philippe were one of his lackeys instead of the King of France. It is pitiful, like watching a fly caught in a spider’s web!”
Henry had rarely seen his son so irate, and he wondered how much of Hal’s indignation was on Marguerite’s behalf, for he did not think Hal was all that fond of his father-in-law. “You both have the advantage of me,” he said, “for you know Philippe better than I do. Tell me more about him. What sort of man is he likely to become?”
“An annoying one,” Geoffrey drawled, and Hal grinned.
“Geoff’s assessment is not kind,” he said, “but accurate. Of course, in fairness to Philippe, he is young yet, so there is still hope. If I did not know he was fourteen, though, I’d swear he was forty, for he is so very serious and earnest about everything. And he can be a bit of a prig. Not only does he not curse, he has actually forbidden swearing in public, and anyone who does must pay a fine of twenty sous! He is the only person I’ve ever met-male or female-who is uneasy around horses. He has shown no interest whatsoever in tournaments or music or jongleurs, which baffles me exceedingly. And he does not seem affectionate by nature, at least not with his sisters. For certes, he has never shown much warmth to Marguerite, and Marie thinks he is a horse’s arse.”
Henry had never met Eleanor’s eldest daughter, but he decided he’d like her. “You are not painting a very appealing picture of the lad, Hal.”
“I suppose I am not,” Hal conceded. “He does have his good qualities. He is clever enough and well mannered and pious, and he does not seem to hold grudges. But he is also very naive. Putting his trust in Philip proves that, and so does the nonsense he believes about the Jews. Do you know what he told me, Papa? That the Jews meet secretly in caves beneath Paris where they sacrifice Christian children!”
Henry blinked. It had been his experience that only the uneducated believed the stories of ritual murder periodically raised against the Jews. “I’d heard that he had the Paris synagogues raided and seized all their property. Is that why he did it?”
“Part of the reason,” Geoffrey commented. “He also has a good eye for profit, and he told me he plans to cancel all the debts that Christians owe to Jewish moneylenders, whilst reserving to the Crown one-fifth of the amount. He assured me, though, that he will be calculating the sum on the debt principal only, not wanting to benefit by usury.”
“You are making him sound like a hypocrite,” Hal protested, “and in this I do believe he is sincere, that he well and truly hates the Jews. His father always protected them, even protesting to the Holy Father when the last Lateran Council forbade Jews to hire Christian servants. Philippe is very critical of Louis’s leniency, and he does not look kindly upon your policy toward the Jews either, Papa. He told me he disapproved greatly of your decision to allow English Jews to be buried in other towns than London.”
“I daresay I can live with Philippe’s disapproval,” Henry said. “The Jews often serve as bankers of the Crown, and Louis understood that. Philippe will learn that lesson the hard-”
“Be that as it may,” Hal interrupted, “you must find a way to free Philippe from Philip’s baneful influence, Papa. I promised Marguerite that we’d do what we could for her father.” He’d moved to the open window and, catching sight of several of his knights crossing the garth, he found a reason to excuse himself, and was soon striding out into the sunlight, calling to Will Marshal and Peter Fitz Guy.
Henry was pleased when Geoffrey remained, for he wanted to get his younger son’s views of the French crisis. “You did not say that much,” he observed, and Geoffrey smiled, saying that few men could compete with Hal or Richard in laying claim to a conversation.
“It did surprise me,” Henry admitted, “to hear Hal speak so harshly of Philip of Flanders. I’d not go so far as to say Hal idolized the man, but he did seem rather fond of the ground upon which he walked. So this is quite a reversal.”
Geoffrey was laughing. “Have you ever known a spurned lover to take rejection well? Philip spent years cultivating Hal’s good will. For certes, he did not pay for Hal’s tournament expenses out of the goodness of his heart. Hal’s nose is out of joint because Philip has dropped him like a hot coal in favor of a more promising prospect, young Philippe.”
Henry frowned, for he did not want to see Hal’s outrage as personal pique; that implied Hal’s sense of justice was only engaged when his self-interest was. Why was it that his sons were so critical of one another? “Do you agree with Hal’s appraisal of Philippe?”
“Yes…up to a point. I think Hal is too quick to put all the blame on Philip. Philippe may be callow, and God knows he lacks Hal’s style or Richard’s swagger. But he is no man’s fool and no man’s puppet. He knows his own mind, Papa. I do not believe he’d have heeded Philip unless he also believed that his uncles exercised too much influence at Louis’s court. Paris is rife with rumors that Philippe means to take the seneschalship away from Thibault and bestow it instead upon Philip. But if there is any truth in that, it would be like ridding your woods of foxes by bringing in a pack of wolves.”
Henry leaned back in his seat, his expression pensive. “Men have always observed how closely Hal resembles my father, and he does have the same coloring and features. But I think you are the one who is most like him.”
Geoffrey glanced up with a surprised smile. “I take that as a compliment.”
