the latest political news. The king had expected to cross the Channel after Easter, but then Philip of Flanders had besieged a French castle. He’d met the Flemish count and the young French king at Gisors again, managed to persuade Philip to withdraw his forces, and was now on his way to Cherbourg with the Scots king, where he planned to sail for England, just missing the Lady Emma by a few days.
Bleddyn doubted that the Lady Emma was heartbroken by that, for time had not reconciled her to living in Wales. “So what is this I hear about a great row between the king and your lord? Since Geoffrey has been given permission to wed the Breton heiress, what other grievances does he have?”
“They made peace ere the king departed Rouen, but Geoffrey has good reasons for his discontent.” Morgan took a swallow of wine, then lowered his voice even though they were speaking in Welsh. “I am guessing you are not that familiar with Breton affairs,” he said, and laughed when Bleddyn insisted that Brittany claimed his last thought upon retiring at night and his first upon awakening in the morning.
“Well, Breton history is complicated, so bear with me. The king initially supported Constance’s father, Conan, in his fight for the duchy with his stepfather. But Conan could not keep the peace and, as his liege lord, Cousin Harry finally grew tired of putting out Breton fires. So fifteen years ago, he forced Conan to abdicate and betrothed Constance to Geoffrey, although he did allow Conan to keep his vast English estates. You’re probably wondering why he had English lands. It is because his father was the Earl of Richmond; his claim to Brittany came through his mother. When Conan died five years later, the Honour of Richmond then became part of Constance’s inheritance.”
Bleddyn’s eyes were glazing over, but he nodded attentively, and Morgan continued. “Then there is the county of Nantes. It was once ruled by the Breton dukes but twenty-some years ago, the people rebelled and offered it to Cousin Harry’s brother Geoffrey. But he died suddenly two years later, and both Conan and Harry claimed Nantes, Conan because it had once been ruled by his uncle and Harry because he was his brother’s legal heir. Not surprisingly, the king won that dispute.”
Bleddyn was beginning to see which way the wind was blowing, for it was his experience that Welsh and English rulers shared the same vices-a hunger for more than they already had. “So the bone of contention between Henry and Geoffrey is either Nantes or Richmond, depending upon which one the king is holding back.”
“I think Geoffrey expected that much, knowing his father as he does. But he was not expecting Cousin Harry to hold on to both of them, for that is two-thirds of Constance’s inheritance. Geoffrey does not often lose his temper, but when he learned that he’d get neither Nantes nor Richmond, he flew into a rage. It availed him naught, though, for the king remained adamant, and eventually they patched up their quarrel. But…” He let his words trail off, busied himself in finishing his wine.
Bleddyn thought that Morgan was bound to be torn in his loyalties, and said encouragingly, “Think of me as your confessor. Your secrets will be safe with me, for who am I going to tell-Welsh sheep?”
Morgan did need to discuss this, and he smiled gratefully at his brother. “The king has been very good to me, Bleddyn. I did not see him all that often, of course, but he always took an interest in my education, always made me feel welcome. It is different, though, with Geoffrey. As his squire, I see him every day, and he treats me as his cousin, not just as a retainer. It troubled me greatly to see him so distraught over this. I’d never seen him so angry before. He even said…”
“What did he say, Morgan?”
“He said that much of the blame lay with his grandmother, the Empress Maude. He claimed that she taught Cousin Harry to treat men the way a wild hawk was tamed, by offering it meat and then snatching it away ere the hawk could eat.”
“Well, that method is said to work with hawks, making them more obedient and biddable. Whether it works as well with sons remains to be seen.” Bleddyn set his henap down, barely touched. “Listen, lad, I was not entirely candid with you earlier. I offered to be part of Lady Emma’s escort, and I did so because I wanted the chance to talk with you about your future.”
Morgan was flattered, but puzzled, too. “I daresay you have a wealth of advice to share with me; big brothers always do. But you could not entrust it to a letter?”
“No, it needed to be done in person. Morgan, I have misgivings about the path you’re following. I know what it is like to be the proverbial fish out of water, neither fully Welsh nor truly English. When I was nineteen, I chose the Welsh way, cast aside Gilbert Fitz Ranulf and became Bleddyn ap Ranulf. You were too young to remember, but it caused serious dissension between our father and me. As he saw it, I was rejecting his heritage, rejecting him. We eventually made our peace, but I hurt him, and I was sorry for it. It was the only path for me, though, and I’ve never regretted it.”
Morgan was genuinely bewildered. “I am glad of that. But what does this have to do with me?”
“It is not easy for us, lad, to be stranded between two worlds. The sad truth is that we can never feel completely comfortable in either world. You are three-quarters Welsh and one-quarter Norman-French. I want you to be sure you are making the right choice, taking the road that is right for you, and I fear that you are letting yourself be borne along by the wind, your decisions made by chance or convenience. You need to think seriously about what you want from this life, not what Papa wants for you, what you want, Morgan.”
Morgan was astonished. “Papa is not forcing me to this, Bleddyn. I like being at the English court, and I have never felt as if I were stranded between two worlds. That is your truth, not mine. I consider myself blessed to have both Norman and Welsh blood flowing through my veins, have never seen it as a burden.”
Bleddyn was equally astonished, for it had not occurred to him that his brother might not share his confusion, his conflicted sense of identity. “Are you sure, lad?” And when Morgan swore he was, the older man could only shake his head in rueful bafflement. “Well, now I feel like a fool. Here I was, rushing off to save my little brother from pirates, only to find that he fancies being a pirate himself!”
Morgan burst out laughing. “Our cousin Harry has been called many things in his life, but I think it is safe to say that you are the first to brand him as a pirate.” He set himself, then, to dispelling his brother’s discomfort, joking and teasing until Bleddyn was laughing, too. He was warmed by this dramatic display of family love and loyalty, and he found himself feeling sorry for his royal cousins, who knew nothing of brotherly solidarity. But afterward, when he marveled how he and Bleddyn could drink from the same cup and yet find the taste so very different, he finally began to understand why the king and his sons seemed unable to reach common ground, no matter how they tried.
Constance’s wedding was just as unpleasant as she’d always expected it to be. In fact, it was even worse, for she’d never anticipated that her mother would not be in attendance. Widowed by the death of Constance’s father ten years ago, her mother Margaret had wed an English baron three years later. Constance had been glad of the remarriage, for it was so much easier to see her mother once they both dwelled on the English side of the Channel. But now Margaret’s English residency worked to her daughter’s disadvantage, for when Constance was summoned to Rouen on such short notice and told that she was to marry Geoffrey as soon as possible, there was no time for Margaret to make the trip, too.
Constance had only one small consolation, that her wedding was not taking place in Normandy. When she learned that the English king was not going to ease his grasp on either Nantes or the Honour of Richmond, her long-smoldering resentment had flared into outright fury. She did not trust herself to sit beside Henry at her wedding feast, exchanging pleasantries with the man who’d ruined her father and now sought to rob her of her rightful inheritance, and the thought of him being present at the bedding-down revelries was even more distasteful to her. In desperation, she had asked Geoffrey if they could be married in Brittany, and to her amazement, he readily agreed. Even more surprising to her, so did his father. It was only later that she realized why they were willing to be so accommodating-because the wedding itself was meaningless to them. They cared only for the legal rights that Geoffrey would acquire once he made her his wife.
She’d suggested that the wedding be held in the castle of one of her most loyal barons, Andre de Vitre, only to learn that Andre had recently left on pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Before she could despair, though, Geoffrey brought her remarkable news: Raoul de Fougeres was willing to act as host. Knowing that Raoul shared her loathing for the English Crown, she was morbidly curious as to how they’d compelled his cooperation.
And so it was that Geoffrey and Constance exchanged vows on the porch of St Leonard’s Church in Fougeres, for weddings were commonly held in public to guarantee as many witnesses as possible to the union. After they entered the church for the Mass conducted by the Bishop of Rennes, they were then escorted through the steep streets of the town and back to the great hall of the castle, which had only recently risen from the ashes of a
