sons as a king, not a father. His awareness of this weakness eroded some of his innate self-confidence, and for one of the few times in his life, he sought validation and support from others.
There had never been many allowed into his trusted inner circle, and death and distance had whittled the number down even further. His parents were dead. So were his brother Will and his greatly mourned cousin Roger. Thomas Becket had been elevated from king’s confidant to holy martyr. Ranulf was in Wales, and Eleanor banished from his bed and to the outer edges of his heart. He’d always assumed that he’d have his sons as allies once they were grown, but that fire had burned down to ashes and smoldering cinders, giving off neither heat nor light. And so he reached out now to the only ones whose loyalty was neither suspect nor tainted by past betrayals, and confided in his friend Willem and his son Geoff.
They listened in sympathetic silence as he unburdened his heart, confessed to his fears that his family’s unity was broken beyond repair, and at last admitted that the son he’d loved the best was the one who’d inflicted the deepest wounds. Hal’s bright luster was dimming, and he could no longer deny his doubts about the sort of king his eldest would be. How was he to rout the demons let loose at Caen? How was he to patch together a peace between his sons that would not die with him?
Pacing restlessly in his bedchamber at Le Mans, the room in which he’d taken his first breath nigh on fifty years ago, he told them that he’d convinced Richard to surrender Clairvaux. But if he could not reconcile Richard and his rebel barons, he feared that Hal would be tempted again to taste that forbidden fruit, and there would be no shortage of serpents to beguile him. As for Richard, he was a fine soldier and showed promise of becoming a brilliant battle commander, but he’d yet to learn that there were times when he could win more by concessions than by threats and intimidation. So it was his intent, Henry explained, to summon Richard’s disgruntled lords to a peace council at Mirebeau, where he hoped to address their grievances and persuade Richard that compromise and flexibility were also arrows in an archer’s quiver.
Neither Willem nor Geoff saw much chance of success in these plans, for they were convinced the barons of Aquitaine were as changeable as the shifting sands, and trusting Henry’s sons was like toting water in a sieve. They would never have admitted that to Henry, though, and so they nodded and made appropriate responses indicating agreement and optimism. And when he told them that he also meant to have his sons renew their oaths of allegiance to him and to enter into a compact of perpetual peace with one another, they struggled to hide an emotion that Henry had rarely if ever invoked in others-a sorrowful sense of pity. But they did not know how to heal Henry’s ailing family any more than he did, and so they could only hope-as he did-that a solemn oath could avert the coming calamity.
After they’d gone, Henry slumped into a chair, stretching his legs toward the fire. If he’d been on the other side of the Channel, he’d have called for a horse and ridden for Winchester. It was not that he expected Eleanor to have the answers that eluded him. But only the mother of their sons could understand the depths of his despair. He’d been sleeping poorly since Hal’s dramatic confession, and he must have dozed for a time, for he jerked upright in his seat to find Geoffrey leaning over him.
“Let me get you some wine, Papa,” he said. “I was about to knock when I heard you cry out. A bad dream, I suppose.” Handing Henry a wine cup, he stepped back. “Can you spare some moments for me?”
“Of course.” Henry drank, then set the cup down in the floor rushes. “Would you be willing to do homage again to your brother if I asked it of you?”
“Why not?” Geoffrey said, sounding puzzled. “As Duke of Normandy, Hal is the liege lord for Brittany, so why would I object?”
“Why, indeed,” Henry murmured. At least one of his sons was amenable to reason. “I am going to need your help, Geoffrey, in settling this feud between your brothers. Richard has agreed to yield Clairvaux, but we both know that will not be the end of it.”
Geoffrey’s eyes had widened. “Did he, by God?” he said softly. “That is a surprise.”
“Mayhap if you talked to them…”
“I doubt that they’d heed me, but I’m willing to try, of course, if you wish it.”
“Good lad.” Henry roused himself to ask Geoffrey if he wanted wine, too, and then leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes. He could not remember the last time he’d been so bone-tired. It seemed so long since he’d awakened each morning eager for what the day would bring. When had the joy begun to seep from his life? When had his losses begun to loom so large?
“Papa, I came here to talk with you about the Honour of Richmond. Constance and I will have been wed two years come August, so we have been patient. But how much longer must we wait for what is rightfully ours? If you’d rather give me Nantes, that is your choice. But Richmond or Nantes, one or the other. I can see no reason why you’d continue to withhold them. It is a matter of fairness if nothing else.”
Henry opened his eyes reluctantly. Geoffrey had been handsomely provided for, given a great heiress and a duchy. How many third sons could say that? But no matter how much he gave them, his sons always wanted more. And if he handed Richmond over to Geoffrey now, that would only add to Hal’s discontent, only strengthen his belief that his brothers were reaping benefits that had been denied to him.
“I will endow you with the Honour of Richmond, but not just yet. This would not be the best time to do that, not whilst Hal and Richard are at each other’s throats. Once I’ve resolved their differences, I will give consideration to your request. Till then, you must be patient. It is not as if you need the incomes from Richmond, after all. The revenues of Brittany are more than sufficient to provide you and Constance with all the comforts you could ever need. I daresay Hal would thank God fasting for your resources.”
Henry saw the shadow that crossed his son’s face, and sighed. “I promise you that I will give you both Richmond and Nantes, when the time is right.” Getting stiffly to his feet, he looked longingly at his bed. As weary as he was, mayhap tonight he’d be able to sleep through till dawn. “Can you summon my squires, lad? I sent them off so I could speak with Willem and Geoff.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Geoffrey had not moved, though, and Henry gave him a quizzical look over his shoulder. “Was there something else you wanted to discuss with me? Besides Richmond?”
“No,” Geoffrey said. “We’re done.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
January 1183
Angers, Anjou
Hal was having a run of luck. He seemed unable to lose, winning every throw of the dice. He was usually elated when he won at raffle, but on this cold, wet afternoon, he was finding it difficult to focus upon the game. His thoughts kept straying to other matters. He was still brooding over his brother’s improbable decision to surrender Clairvaux Castle; he would have wagered the surety of his soul that the old man would never be able to coerce or coax Richard into cooperating. And now what? Without Clairvaux, there was no reason for rebelling, at least none that his father would accept.
“If I surrender unconditionally,” his friend Raoul de Farci pleaded playfully, “can we switch over to hazard?”
Hal didn’t care which game they played, and Raoul quickly removed the third dice before he could change his mind. He had no opportunity to cast the remaining dice, though, for Hal’s brother had materialized at the table, and was insisting that Hal come with him. The other men were not happy at forfeiting the chance to recoup their losses, but Geoffrey was not to be denied, and they could only watch glumly as Hal was spirited away.
Hal followed his brother out into the bailey with poor grace. He did not see why he must be the one to inspect Geoffrey’s lame stallion; their father had forgotten more about healing horses than he’d ever known. But he could not muster up the energy to object. It was sleeting again, and he felt damp and chilled by the time they entered the stables. Several grooms throwing dice scrambled to their feet, looking discomfited. When Geoffrey flipped a few coins their way and suggested they warm up with mulled wine, they did not argue and eagerly abandoned their duties. Hal was standing by one of the stalls, regarding Geoffrey’s stallion and looking perplexed.
“If this horse is lame, he is hiding it remarkably well. What is this about, Geoff?”
