envisioned Hal as ruling over a loose federation, ably supported by his brothers in Aquitaine and Brittany. He’d expected that they would be allies, never enemies.
No, he could not burden Eleanor with such knowledge. At least he could take action, do what he could to mend the breach. She could only grieve and blame herself-just as he was blaming himself. As suspicious as he still was of her influence over their sons, he knew this was not her doing; she would never have deliberately tried to set Hal and Richard at odds. Better that she not know. He’d reluctantly sent Tilda an oblique warning, for she and Heinrich had settled in at Domfront Castle in Normandy, and they’d likely hear of the confrontation at Angers. With luck, though, the Channel might keep gossip and rumor from reaching Eleanor’s ears, at least until he’d been able to repair these fraying brotherly bonds.
He was watching the parchment burn when Willem and Geoff were escorted into the solar, and some of his edginess eased in their familiar presence. Thank God Almighty that there were still a few men whom he could trust. They were discussing his plans for the Mirebeau council when Hal joined them, and he entered enthusiastically into the conversation, criticizing the various Limousin barons as if these same men had not been his conspirators only a few months past. Henry watched his performance without comment, wondering how this stranger had gained possession of his son’s body. He refused to believe that Hal had always been this shallow and self-centered, could only assume that he’d somehow missed the warning signs that Hal was losing his way. He refused, too, to look too far into the future. A man who’d always been one for long-range planning, now he took one day at a time. Today he must reconcile his sons and then reconcile Richard and his barons. Tomorrow…tomorrow he would figure out how to keep Hal from heeding the seductive whispers of the serpent and taking another taste of the forbidden fruit.
They were interrupted briefly when a servant entered and murmured a few words for Henry’s ear alone. His gaze fastening upon his son, he knew Hal would soon be seeking entertainment elsewhere, and he gave the man a low-voiced directive with that in mind. As he’d predicted, it was not long before Hal lost interest and found an excuse to depart, but it gave Henry no satisfaction that he was now able to read the younger man so accurately. He wished that, like Eleanor, he could have remained in blissful ignorance of his eldest son’s failings, both as a man and as a king.
Once Hal had gone, Henry moved over to warm himself by the fire before telling Geoff and Willem that his best agent had arrived and was about to be ushered up to the solar. “I told Matthew to wait until my son went back to the great hall,” he said, and shook his head when they offered to leave. “No, there is no need to go. You’ve met him already, Willem, and it is time that you did, too, Geoff.”
A memory stirred for Willem. “I remember. The young man who was spying upon the French king for you. His name was…Luc, no?”
“Well, that is the name he was using,” Henry said, with a faint smile. “He has not been at the French court for well over a twelvemonth, though. His mother was born in the Limousin, and after she was widowed, she chose to return to her family in Limoges. She took ill last year, and Luc hastened to Limoges to look after her until she recovered. He’d intended to return to Philippe’s service, but when he discovered that one of his cousins was a household knight of Viscount Aimar’s, he thought that might be a better place to fish than Paris and arranged to be taken on, too.”
Henry smiled again. “I suspect he was finding life rather dull at Philippe’s court, whereas the Limousin was bound to be a fertile ground for intrigue and rebellion, which is mother’s milk to him. I am surprised that he did not discover Hal’s plotting, for he misses little and my son plays at conspiracy as if it were a game of camp-ball. I can only assume that Aimar was more careful.”
Geoff looked away lest his father see his anger, for he knew his was an expressive face. He did not have a forgiving nature, as he’d be the first to admit, and he’d never forgiven his half brothers or the queen for their betrayal. He was an admirer of Richard’s battle skills and he thought that Geoffrey was showing a deft touch in his dealings with the Breton lords, but he had no use whatsoever for Hal, was one of the few at court who was utterly immune to the young king’s charm.
When Luc was escorted into the chamber, Willem had to remind himself that nigh on nine years had passed, for the younger man seemed to have kept time at bay; he looked much as he had when Willem had last seen him, on the road to Rouen. He still put Willem in mind of a wolf masquerading as a domestic dog, sleek and supple and dangerous.
Stepping forward, Luc knelt at the king’s feet. Henry’s welcoming smile faded as he got his first look at Luc’s face. His agent was so somber that he knew at once something was very wrong. Gesturing for Luc to rise, he braced himself for yet more bad news. “What have you come to tell me?”
“What I wish could have been done by someone else, my liege,” Luc said in a low voice, and when his dark eyes locked with Henry’s grey ones, the older man was chilled by what he saw in them-pity. “My lord king, there is no easy way to say it. Your son has betrayed you.”
Henry’s relief was so great that he laughed aloud. “You need not tread so carefully, Luc. I already know of my son’s scheming with the Viscount of Limoges and the others. The young king made a full and public confession at my Caen Christmas Court.”
Luc sighed and then shook his head. “You do not understand, my liege. I am not speaking of the young king, but of your other son, the Duke of Brittany.”
Henry was incredulous and, then, enraged. “That is a lie!”
Luc faced his anger without flinching. “My lord king, do you truly believe I would give you such grief if I were not sure? I ask you only to hear me out.”
Henry was regretting his flare of temper. Luc had earned better than that. He was mistaken-obviously-but he was not lying. “Speak, then,” he said. “I will listen.”
“The lord duke arrived in Limoges last week,” Luc began, and Henry could not help interrupting.
“I know that, Luc. I sent Geoffrey to Limoges, instructing him to persuade Aimar and the other barons to meet me next month at Mirebeau. So there is nothing suspicious about his presence there.”
“I know his peace mission was the public reason given for his arrival in Limoges. But what troubled me from the first was that Aimar and the others welcomed Lord Geoffrey more like an ally than a mediator. I had no proof, nothing to go on but my instincts. They’ve served me well in the past, though, and so I kept my eyes open and my ears pricked. The duke is a cautious man, not one to boast of his shifting alliances, but I got lucky. I happened to overhear him instructing a courier, and so I trailed inconspicuously after them into the stables. He gave the man a sealed letter, told him that it must be delivered to Lord Raoul de Fougeres without delay and warned him of the urgency of his undertaking.”
“I do not find it strange that he’d be sending a message to one of his Breton barons,” Henry said, but he was now sounding more defensive than defiant, for he, too, put a great deal of trust in Luc’s instincts.
“It could well have been utterly innocent,” Luc admitted. “I knew only that I wanted to get my hands upon that letter, and so when the courier rode out, I followed him. I did not expect to get a chance to steal it until that evening, but the fool stopped in a Limoges tavern on his way out of town, and put away enough wine to need to relieve himself in an alley nearby. I slipped in behind him and clouted him ere he even knew I was there.”
Luc would normally have digressed from his account at this point, explaining there was a spot behind the ear that could render a man unconscious ere he hit the ground, for Henry was interested in esoteric facts like that. Now, though, he knew better, for the king’s color was taking on a waxen hue. “I took his purse and ring, too, to make it look like a robbery, and I am sure that was how he explained it to the lord duke when he eventually woke up, doubtless conjuring up three or four brigands against whom he’d struggled fiercely.”
When Henry said nothing, Luc reached into his tunic and withdrew a rolled parchment. “You’ll recognize the lord duke’s seal, sire. He tells Raoul de Fougeres to dispatch the routiers they’d hired, saying war is imminent and he expects Lord Richard to take the offensive and strike first, so the sooner the routiers can reach the Limousin, the better.”
Henry was still silent, but when Luc held out the letter, he took it. Glancing down at the elegant, slanting handwriting, he recognized it at once as his son’s. Keeping his gaze upon that damning document, he said huskily, “You’ll be well rewarded for this service, Luc, but that can wait. For now, you’ll be wanting a meal. Tell my steward to see that you’re fed and then to find you a bed, and a wench, if you want one.”
“Thank you, sire,” Luc murmured, and backed out of the solar. Geoff and Willem had sat frozen, finding it almost as hard as Henry to credit the spy’s revelation. They exchanged troubled glances, neither knowing what to say. But as the door closed behind Luc, Henry raised his head.
“Find my son, Willem,” he said. “Fetch him here straightaway.”
