death, and compelled her to give him control of her inheritance-the French province of Vermandois.
Isabelle’s untimely death had greater significance, therefore, than merely the end of her misery, for neither Eleanor nor Amaria doubted that Philip had made her life a living hell. Now that she was dead, Vermandois should have passed to her younger sister, Alienor. But Alienor’s rights were ignored as Vermandois became one more bone of contention between the Count of Flanders and the young French king, both of whom claimed that rich county. Eleanor was infuriated that her niece had been treated so shabbily. She could not help Alienor, though, and that only added to her discontent.
Eleanor was still fuming over her impotence when news came from Poitou that Richard was facing a formidable coalition of rebel lords-the disinherited Taillefer brothers of Angouleme, their half brother Aimar, Viscount of Limoges, the Count of Perigord, and the Viscounts of Ventadour, Comborn, and Turenne. Richard had, as usual, chosen to strike first and attacked the Count of Perigord’s castle of Puy-St-Front in Perigueux, but he did not have enough men with him to hold it, and to Amaria’s troubled eyes, Eleanor seemed to age years in the span of days, her face pallid and drawn, her appetite gone, her sleep sporadic. If Amaria had doubted Eleanor’s partiality for her second son, those doubts were dispelled as she witnessed the depths of the queen’s fear. For better or worse, Richard was closest to Eleanor’s heart, and now she could do nothing as he faced the most serious threat yet to his authority in Aquitaine.
That morning they learned that Ralf de Glanville had ridden in the night before, and Eleanor made haste to seek him out, for the justiciar had accompanied Henry to Normandy and he would be likely to have the latest word about the rebellion. As she waited for Eleanor to return, Amaria paced nervously, unable to sit still for long. To distract herself, she even tried to pet the cat, and she’d never cared for felines, considering them to be vexing, odd creatures. But Cleo haughtily rebuffed her overtures, and she resumed her pacing, wondering how she could comfort Eleanor if evil had befallen her favorite son.
When Eleanor finally came back to their chamber, though, Amaria knew at once that the news was good. For the first time in weeks, there was color in the queen’s cheeks and her eyes had lost that glazed, inward look. After instructing Amaria to pour them some wine, she sat down in the window-seat and shared what she’d learned.
“Would you believe that Harry is still acting as Philippe’s guardian angel?” she marveled. “Ralf said he met Philip and Philippe at Senlis and patched up yet another peace between Flanders and France. He then headed south, summoning the rebels to meet him at the abbey of Grandmont in Whitsun week. He told Ralf that if he could not end their rebellion by peaceful means, he would then take the field with Richard against them. Richard actually requested his support, which shows how precarious his position had become; my son does not easily ask for help. Harry told Ralf to assure me that there was no further need for concern. He’d summoned Geoffrey to Grandmont, too, and he said that if the war continued, Hal would also join them in punishing the rebels.”
“Madame, that is wonderful news!”
“Yes, Amaria, it is. It was a long time coming, but at last the men in my family will be fighting on the same side!”
The Count of Perigord had retaken his castle at Puy-St-Front after Richard’s April seizure of the fortress, and in June, Richard, his father, and his brother Geoffrey set about recapturing it. The siege was going so well that Richard expected the count would soon surrender. But as of the first day of July, Hal had yet to put in an appearance.
Richard and Theobald Chabot, one of his mercenary captains, were inspecting Puy-St-Front’s defenses for weaknesses, venturing so close to the castle walls that his knights and his squire Rico were alarmed, for he was now within range of Count Elie’s bowmen. Richard was disdainful of the danger, studying the battlements intently. “If we were to shift the mangonels,” he said, “aim them at this corner tower-”
“My lord duke!” One of his soldiers was approaching at a run, for Richard’s men knew that he expected his commands to be carried out with dispatch; in that, he was truly his father’s son. “The young king has just ridden into camp, and with a goodly force of knights and men-at-arms.”
“Has he, indeed?” Not for the first time, Richard found himself thinking that Hal had an uncanny talent for arriving just as a siege was winding down. “I suppose, then, that I ought to bid him welcome.”
Hal and his knights had already dismounted, and he was conversing easily with their father and Geoffrey, looking immaculate and well groomed and rested in the midst of the begrimed, sweaty, weary men who’d been besieging the castle for nigh on a month. As Richard shouldered his way toward Hal, the throng parted to let him pass, and Henry turned with a smile, pleased that his sons had come together like this, the first time that all three of them had gone to war under his command.
The smile left Henry’s face, though, with Richard’s first words. “Thank God Almighty, for now victory is assured. Once the rebels learn that the young king is here at last, they will surely be clamoring to surrender.”
It could conceivably have been meant as a joke-if not for the razor-edged tone of Richard’s voice. Henry looked taken aback, Geoffrey interested, and Richard’s knights amused. Hal’s knights took it for what it was-a mortal insult-and angry murmurings swept through their ranks. But Hal appeared unperturbed. Smiling at his younger brother, he said pleasantly, “Given how heavy-handed you are with your liegemen, Little Brother, rebellions like this will be a common occurrence. Since we’ll have to be riding to your rescue so often in years to come, it seemed wiser to pace myself.”
The glitter in Richard’s eyes did not bode well for a peaceful resolution, and Henry hastily stepped between them. “Enough,” he said, low-voiced. “Will you make a spectacle of yourselves in front of the entire camp?” Others came to his aid, then, seeking to draw Richard aside, offering to show Hal where his men would be setting up their tents, and the moment passed. Henry did not move, though, not until Willem came to his side. “God grant me patience,” he said softly, pitching his words for the earl’s ears only. “Whatever that was, it was not the usual brotherly rivalry. That I can understand. But this…this was lethal, Willem.”
And since Willem agreed with Henry, he could think of nothing to say and they stood in silence for a time, watching as men sought to keep the king’s sons as far from each other as possible.
Rebellions were not fought to the death, and when they realized that they’d been outmaneuvered and outfought, Viscount Aimar and Count Elie sued for peace. Aimar was compelled to offer two of his sons as hostages, and Henry, Hal, and Geoffrey accompanied Aimar to Limoges, where peace terms were sworn in St Augustine’s abbey. Richard remained in Perigueux to supervise the destruction of Puy-St-Front’s walls. With only Aimar’s Taillefer half brothers in Angouleme still in defiance of Richard, the revolt sputtered to an end.
Limoges was, like Nottingham, two separate cities, one clustered around the bishop’s palace by the River Vienne and the other spread out on the hillside around the viscount’s castle and the great abbey of St Martial, where Henry and his sons chose to stay.
The day after the peace terms were accepted, Henry and his sons celebrated with a hunt in the viscount’s woods. By the time Geoffrey returned to his guest chamber, Compline was chiming. His squires, Morgan and Jehan, had just helped him to change his muddied hunting tunic when his brother Hal made an unexpected appearance. Both surprised and curious, Geoffrey sent his squires down to the guest hall so they could talk in privacy. He assumed Hal had a specific purpose in mind, for while they had never had a serious falling out, they were not confidants or even boon companions.
Hal seemed in no hurry, though, to get to the point, and began to discuss the day’s hunt. But Geoffrey alone of his family had learned the art of patience, and he lounged at ease on the bed, sharing Hal’s wineskin as he waited for his brother to reveal his intent.
“So…” Hal said, sprawling on the bed beside him as if they were still youngsters without a care in the world, “how do you like being married?”
“Well enough.”
Hal doubted that, for he’d always found Constance to be as prickly as a hedgehog. “I’d wager your lady is not as easy to content as my Marguerite. Take the advice of a seasoned husband; gifts do wonders for marital harmony, the more frequently the better!”
“You may be right. Constance did seem quite pleased with the barony of Treguier.” Taking note of his brother’s blank look, Geoffrey explained, “Treguier was held by Constance’s father, but when he died, our father gave it to Conan’s uncle. The uncle died earlier this year, and I reclaimed it in Constance’s name.”
