But Henry was back in England after more than fifteen months on the other side of the Channel, and her spirits soared at the prospect of seeing one or more of her sons. She was to be disappointed, though. Richard had remained in Poitou, Hal and Marguerite were visiting her brother the French king, and Geoffrey and Constance were holding their first Christmas Court in Rennes.
Henry’s son Geoff had accompanied him, as had John, but Geoff could barely bring himself to be civil to Eleanor, and John was her phantom son, vanishing with breathtaking speed every time she got within ten feet of him. Somewhat to her surprise, though, Henry was on his best behavior, so attentive that she did not have time to dwell upon her discontent. They enjoyed a pleasant supper as Henry told her what he knew of Constance and Geoffrey’s wedding, revealed that Geoff had resigned as Bishop-elect of Lincoln, confessing that he did not think himself fit for such a high office, and was now Henry’s chancellor, and disclosed that Richard’s betrothed, Alys, would soon be residing at Winchester, as she’d complained life was too lonely and dull at Devizes Castle.
Henry also reported that Richard had a tumultuous summer. He’d angered the citizens of Limoges by insisting that the city walls be torn down, and then found himself embroiled in strife with the brothers of the Count of Angouleme. Count Vulgrin had died unexpectedly in June, leaving only a small daughter, and Richard claimed her wardship and then announced that she would inherit Angouleme, which did not sit well with the count’s kinsmen.
“I would think not!” Eleanor was taken aback, for primogeniture was not the custom in Aquitaine and Vulgrin’s brothers would have expected to share his inheritance. It sounded as if Richard had poked a stick into a hive, not the best way to obtain honey.
“Richard chased them out of Angouleme, and they took refuge with their half brother Aimar in Limoges. They’ve been joined by the Count of Perigord and several of his neighbors and will be plotting mischief in the coming year. This is why Richard did not join us in Winchester, for I know he wanted to see you.”
Eleanor looked at him with surprise and some misgivings. Why was he being so kind to her tonight? When he proceeded to do his best to reassure her about the fledgling rebellion Richard was facing, lavishly praising their son’s military skills, she began to feel more and more uneasy. It had been a long time since he’d shown such solicitude for her peace of mind. What was he up to now? “Is it true that you sent our sons to Philippe’s aid last month?”
He smiled slightly. “So you heard about that, did you? Philip’s Flemings sacked Noyon, captured Clermont and Senlis, and actually got within fifteen miles of Paris. By then I was back in England, so I dispatched Hal and Richard and Geoffrey, and they were quite successful, soon had Philip and his allies on the run.”
Eleanor gazed at him in bemusement. Three times he’d acted to salvage Philippe’s budding kingship, twice intervening personally to stave off disaster, and now this latest rescue. Name of God, Harry, why can you not be as generous to your own sons as you are to Louis’s son? The question never left her lips, though. She knew it would only destroy their newfound camaraderie, for hers would be the last voice that he’d ever heed when it came to their children.
Henry stayed by her side after the meal was done, chatting so easily that she saw they were being watched-and gossiped about-by virtually every guest in the hall, gossip that doubtless reached spectacular levels when Henry accompanied her once she was ready to leave the festivities.
Ice crunched underfoot as they walked across the bailey. Eleanor glanced over her shoulder at their footprints in the snow, not sure how he’d come to be escorting her back to her chamber. She let Henry keep up the conversation, for her mind was racing as she tried to anticipate him, to guess what his latest scheme was. When Henry actually offered an offhand apology for Geoff’s rudeness, she was convinced that something was in the wind, and decided to put her suspicions to the test.
“I am not troubled by Geoff’s ill will, Harry. I would be grateful, though, if you had a word with John on my behalf. I tried all evening to speak with him, to no avail. Can you assure him that the sky will not collapse if he exchanges a few civil words with me?”
“I suppose I could. But you have our other lads dancing to your tune quite happily. Surely you can spare me one son, Eleanor?”
She stopped abruptly and studied him. There was just enough moonlight to catch the glimmer of a smile. “I think we need to talk. Let’s go into the garden where we can be alone.” He didn’t object and they crossed the bailey in silence, opened the wicker gate, and entered the gardens.
As she’d expected, none were about at that hour. Stopping by a bench, Henry cleared snow from it with the corner of his mantle, for he only wore gloves when hunting. He stayed on his feet, though, after seating Eleanor. “You are right,” he said in a low voice. “We do need to talk.”
She’d thought that he had political intrigue in mind and needed her cooperation. Now, though, she felt a chill go up her spine, utterly unrelated to the winter weather. “Is this about one of our children? It is not good, is it?”
“No, it is not. You know that there has long been tension and suspicion between the Holy Roman Emperor and our Tilda’s husband. It has now gotten much worse. Heinrich has been banished in disgrace, compelled to leave Germany. As soon as I learned about this, I sent Willem to the emperor to argue on Heinrich’s behalf. The most he could gain, though, was the reduction of Heinrich’s exile from seven years to three. So he will be taking refuge at my court in the coming year, and Tilda and their children will accompany him.”
“That is indeed sad,” Eleanor agreed, but in truth, she was somewhat relieved, for she’d feared more grievous news than that. At least Tilda and Heinrich were well, in no physical danger. “It is good that they have a shelter from this storm, a place where they will be safe and welcome until the emperor can be placated and coaxed into ending the banishment. And I confess that it will be wonderful to have Tilda back, and to see our grandchildren at last.” When he did not reply, she said sharply, “I will be able to see them, Harry?”
“Of course.”
For the first time, Eleanor realized how cold it was in the garden. Rising, she shook snow from her mantle, smiling as a memory suddenly surfaced. “Do you remember the time we were pelting each other with snowballs, and your mother caught us at it? She was horrified that we were acting in such an unseemly way. Where was that…Rouen or Caen?”
“Rouen, I think.” He sounded distracted, as if he had other matters on his mind, and she decided it was time to bring this surprising evening to an end while they were still on such amicable terms. But when she suggested that they go indoors, he made no move to leave. “Eleanor…there is more. I ought to have told you at once, but I was too craven, wanted to put it off as long as I could…”
“You are the least craven man in Christendom,” she said, but her voice was no longer steady, for her fear had come flooding back. “What…what is it?”
“I had grievous news this week from Sicily. Joanna gave birth to a son, but he came too early. He only lived long enough to be baptized.”
“Oh, no, no…” This was not the first time that Death had claimed a grandchild. Marguerite and Hal were still mourning for their infant son, and just that autumn, Eleanor had learned that the baby born earlier in the year to her daughter Leonora had been found dead in his cradle. But Joanna’s heartbreak was harder for her to bear. Joanna was just sixteen. Why had God done this to her?
Turning away blindly, she would have stumbled and fallen if Henry had not reached out swiftly to catch her. Putting his arm around her shaking shoulders, he drew her to him, and she wept against his chest, wept for Joanna and her baby son, wept for herself, too, for her husband and their sons, for their accursed ill luck and their deplorable blunders, for all the evil that had overtaken their family.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
May 1182
Winchester, England
The spring had been one of incessant rains and unrelenting bad news. It began when Eleanor learned that her sister Petronilla’s elder daughter had died just before Easter. Eleanor had told Amaria about Isabelle’s sad story. She’d been wed to Philip of Flanders at a very young age and their marriage had soured when she’d been unable to give him an heir. Six years ago Philip had accused her of adultery, had her suspected lover beaten to
