“ So you claim you knew nothing of Geoffrey’s treachery?” Henry’s eyes bore into Hal’s, and there was such icy accusation in his voice that his eldest felt heat rising in his face.
“Jesu, of course I did not!” Hal insisted, with all the indignation he could muster. “Had I suspected Geoffrey was so vulnerable to Aimar’s blandishments, I’d have come to you in private and argued against sending him to Limoges.”
“How can I doubt you when you’ve always been so devoted to my interests?” Henry said, with sarcasm that cracked like a whip.
“Papa, I understand that your nerves are on the raw after getting such news. But it is not fair to blame me for what Geoffrey has done. We’re not even that close. If he’d been planning this beforehand-and I doubt that he was-he’d hardly have confided in me, not when he was planning to usurp my place in the rebel plot. It is true that you addressed my grievance by taking Clairvaux from Richard.” Hal paused and then smiled wryly. “But in all honesty, any peace between Richard and me is likely to last as long as a whore’s chastity vow. Sooner or later, he’ll start lusting after Angevin lands again. When he does, I’d like to be able to rally his barons to my side, and what better way to do that than to put forward my own claim to Aquitaine?”
There was a certain wayward logic in Hal’s argument, something persuasive in his candid admission that he’d not ruled out making another try for Aquitaine if circumstances warranted it. Seeing Henry’s hesitation, Hal swiftly pressed his advantage. “So why would I want to see Geoffrey as the new Duke of Aquitaine? If Geoffrey held both Brittany and Aquitaine, that would give him far too much power for my comfort. I trust Geoffrey more than Richard, but then I’d trust the Saracen chieftain Saladin more than Richard.”
Henry turned to the table, poured a cup of wine, and let the liquid trickle down his throat. But he knew that all the wine in the world would not wash away the foul taste in his mouth. Sitting down in the closest chair, he looked from Geoff to Willem, then back to Hal. “Why do you think this was not premeditated?”
“Because I know how persuasive Aimar can be, Papa. If he seduced women the way he seduces allies, he’d have sired enough bastards to populate an entire city. In fairness to Aimar, he has just cause for loathing life under Richard’s reign. It shows you how desperate they are that they turned to Geoffrey now that I am no longer available. And in fairness to Geoffrey, I daresay they bedazzled him with their promises; Aimar is good at that. He’d never expected more than Brittany, and that comes with a price-having to put up with Constance. How many younger sons would not have been tempted by the riches of Aquitaine?”
“You make a curious defense of your brother, Hal, by pleading his weakness and greed.”
“Who amongst us is without sin, Papa? As far as I am concerned, much of the blame rests with Richard, for Geoffrey would not have gotten himself entangled with Aimar if Richard had not pushed them into rebellion.” Hal was surprised to see how much his father seemed to have aged in a matter of hours, and he found himself wanting to offer some genuine consolation. Moving to Henry’s side, he knelt by him so their eyes were level and said earnestly, “You ought not to take this too much to heart, Papa. You are not the target here-Richard is. I hope you’ll bear that in mind and, for once, let him reap what he has sown.”
Henry looked into Hal’s eyes, saw sincerity and sympathy and an utter inability to understand that Geoffrey’s double-dealing was putting their entire empire at risk. “I am glad we had this talk,” he said wearily. “I want you to tell my council and court that Geoffrey has gone over to the rebels. They’ll have to know…”
“I will do it now,” Hal promised, getting lightly to his feet and letting his hand drop to Henry’s shoulder in a gesture of comfort. Glancing toward the other men, he said, “Willem, Geoff? Do you want to come with me?” Again, that rueful smile surfaced. “I know how tattered my credibility is in some eyes, and none would doubt either of you.”
When Willem rose, Geoff had no choice but to rise, too. Wishing he had the power to see into his brother’s brain, he regarded Hal with poorly concealed antagonism. He was willing to admit that Hal’s performance had been convincing, but that was the trouble; he suspected it was a performance. Henry gave no indication of wanting him to stay, and so he followed the others to the door. But then he looked back, and what he saw caused him to catch his breath as if he’d taken a blow, for, thinking himself alone, Henry had leaned forward and buried his face in his hands.
By the time he found Willem, Geoff was seething, so flushed and distraught that he looked as if he were at risk for an apoplectic fit. “Have you heard?” he demanded. “Hal has offered to go to Limoges to coax Geoffrey into abandoning the rebels, and my father has agreed to let him!”
“I know,” Willem said morosely, “but for God’s sake, lower your voice, Geoff, or they’ll be able to hear you in Saumur.”
“I think my father has lost his mind,” Geoff said, but in more circumspect tones. “How can he trust Hal on such a mission? Let’s assume he is not already in this plot up to his neck, though that takes more faith than I have. How is he supposed to bring Geoffrey back to the fold? He has as much backbone as a hemp rope, and like as not, Geoffrey will talk him into joining the rebellion!”
“You do not have to convince me, Geoff. I agree with you.”
“Then you must go to my father, make him see that this is a great mistake. I tried, but he’d not hear me. Mayhap if you voiced your concerns, too-”
“I already have, to no avail. He would not heed me either.”
Geoff’s breath hissed through his teeth, and his chest heaved as he sought to get his temper under control. “Why?” he asked simply, and Willem had no answer for him.
“I do not know,” he confessed. “I remember the way Harry was ere he did penance at Canterbury. You were not with us, then, Geoff, but he sailed in a gale that the Devil himself would have shunned. It was almost as if he were leaving his fate up to the Almighty, leaving it to God to choose whether he prevailed or not. It may be that he is doing that again.” Willem shook his head and repeated, “I just do not know.”
None of that made any sense to Geoff. “What can we do?”
Willem’s shoulders slumped. “We can pray that his trust in Hal is justified.”
Hal crossed the chamber and embraced his father, which he’d not done in years. “You will not be sorry, Papa. I’ll not let you down,” he promised. “When all this is done, you’ll have no reasons for regrets.”
“Go with God, Hal,” Henry said softly, not moving until the young king had departed the chamber. He went, then, to the window, flung the shutters open and, heedless of the cold, gazed down into the castle bailey. Hal soon emerged and started toward his men, who were already mounted. Catching sight of Willem and Geoff, he veered in their direction. Henry could not hear what was being said; he assumed Hal was bidding them farewell. Willem, ever the courtier, was responding courteously, but Geoff was glowering, looking rather like Richard in one of his rages. Henry knew they were distraught over his decision to let Hal go after Geoffrey. It was not something he could explain, though, for it was neither logical nor wise in light of Hal’s past history. It was not the king who was setting Hal loose; it was the father. His head and heart were at war, and he could no longer endure the uncertainty. He had to know if his eldest son could be trusted, and this was the only way to find out. If Hal let him down, it could not be more painful than Geoffrey’s betrayal, for he’d never seen that coming. At least there’d be no surprise if Hal confirmed his fears and betrayed him, too. Better he knew the worst, for then he could deal with it.
Hal was mounted now on a prancing grey stallion. Glancing up, he saw Henry and waved jauntily before riding out. Henry stayed at the window, not moving until long after Hal was no longer in sight.
For months, Hal’s emotions had been swinging back and forth like a pendulum in a high wind. Never had he felt so conflicted, so confused. Whenever Richard had the upper hand, he’d burned to bring his brother down, furious and frustrated that his chance for rebellion was slipping away. But whenever Richard had taken a misstep and fallen from their father’s favor, he’d been beset by doubts, feeling as if he was being pressured into making a decision ere he was ready. He’d departed Angers in high spirits, confident and eager for what lay ahead. The trip had been long enough, though, for misgivings to creep back in, and as he approached Limoges, he felt more like a hostage to fortune than the commander of his own fate.
Limoges was actually two cities, the ville, which held the great abbey of St Martial and the viscount’s castle, and the cite, site of the bishop’s palace and cathedral. Each was enclosed within its own ramparts, and, as was so often the case, the rivalry between the ville and the cite was not good-natured. As they were coming from the north, Hal reached the ville first, and he drew rein once they neared the Montmeiller gate, saying a silent prayer
