“I cannot argue with you there,” Geoff conceded grudgingly. “The truth is not an utterly alien tongue to you, as it is to our brothers.”
“Praise like that will turn my head, Geoff,” Richard said, very dryly. “Hal is the worst offender, though. Geoffrey can lie as easily as he breathes, but at least he does not lie to himself. Hal usually gets entangled in his own webs, and that makes him truly dangerous.”
Again, Geoff could find no fault with Richard’s assessment of their brothers. “Do you think they deliberately ordered-” he began, only to be halted in mid-sentence by the stunned look on Richard’s face. Following his gaze, Geoff turned and then he, too, gasped, for Hal had just entered the hall.
Henry had been seated on the dais, paying little heed to the men clustering around him, friends and sycophants alike trying their best to distract his thoughts from the day’s troubling events. At the sight of his son, he jumped to his feet, although he remained where he was and let Hal come to him. Richard and Geoff were already in motion, too, and all three of them converged upon the dais at the same time.
“Are you unhurt, my liege?” Hal stopped on the steps, looking up searchingly into Henry’s face. “I was horrified to hear of your mishap. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding. A fool watchman mistook your men for a raiding party from the cite and rang the alarm bell, crying out that the town was under attack. Thankfully one of my knights was on the castle walls and he recognized the royal banner. When I think what could have happened…” He grimaced, shaking his head. “You may be sure the bowman will be punished for his carelessness, and the watchman, too.”
“I can spare you the trouble,” Richard said laconically. “Send them to Aixe and we’ll punish them for you.”
Hal gave Richard a cool, dismissive glance. “How very kind of you to offer, Brother. But you’ve been known to discipline offenders with…an excess of zeal. I think it best that we deal with the culprits ourselves.”
Richard dropped all pretense of civility and said with a snarl, “If you truly do punish that bowman, it will be because his aim was off!”
Hal flushed, looking genuinely angry. “You dare to accuse me of seeking my father’s death?”
“And you dare to come here and insult us with your talk of ‘accidents’ and ‘mishaps’? It is not wise to think all men are as dull-witted and foolhardy as you, Brother. Now I have another question for you. How do you plan to get back to your friends in Limoges?”
The knights who’d accompanied Hal took that as the threat it was meant to be and moved closer to the young king, hands now on sword hilts. “I’d sooner trust the good faith of an infidel Turk than yours,” Hal jeered. “But I am here to speak with my lord father, and unlike you, he is a man of honor.”
Now it was Richard’s turn to sneer. “What would you know of honor? You’re a joke, the King of Cockaigne, who’s done naught but spend his sire’s money and play the fool-”
“Enough!” Henry said suddenly, up till now a stricken witness to his family’s fratricide. His eyes flicked from one to the other, and then, making up his mind, he beckoned to Hal. “I will hear what you have to say. Come with me,” he commanded, and people hastened to clear a path as he stepped from the dais and headed for the door. Hal gestured to his knights to remain in the hall and then followed after his father.
Richard and Geoff watched them go. “That gibe about the ‘King of Cockaigne’ was clever,” Geoff said at last, thinking that Hal was indeed meant to reign over that fabled land of milk and honey, never one in the real world. Richard did not reply, but as their eyes met, they silently acknowledged the start of an unlikely alliance.
They’d come to a halt out in the bailey, snow crunching under their boots, chilled by a wind that had sprung up without warning, the damp, heavy air warning of rain before dawn.
“Papa, surely you cannot believe that arrow shot was anything but mischance!”
“What am I supposed to believe, Hal? You ask to be allowed to make peace with Geoffrey and the rebel barons, and then you disappear into blue smoke, with nary a word of your whereabouts or your intentions. When I reach Limoges, I find you dwelling comfortably in that den of thieves, and as I approach the gates, I come under attack. If you were not my flesh and blood-”
“But I am, and that makes all the difference in the world! What greater crime could there be than patricide? Yes, I was at Limoges, because that is where Geoffrey and the others are to be found. I have not abandoned my hopes of mending this rift between you and Geoffrey. I think I’ve been making headway, too. But Aimar and his allies are naturally doing their best to keep Geoffrey’s resolve from wavering, so it may take more time. I’ve been assuring him that you are willing to forgive, will hold no grudges. That is true, is it not? I cannot act as your cat’s- paw, Papa, cannot make promises to Geoffrey and the others if you do not mean to keep them.”
“Of course I mean to keep them,” Henry snapped, not sure how he’d ended up on the defensive. “I want no more strife in our family, Hal. But that peace must extend to you and your brothers. It is not enough that you all pledge fealty to me. You must somehow learn to live amicably with one another, however little love there is between you.”
“Well, I get along with Geoffrey and Johnny. Two out of three is not so bad, is it?” Hal smiled then, saying quickly, “I ought not to be jesting about it, Papa, for I can see the pain it gives you. I know you are right. I just wish Brother Richard did not make it so damnably difficult!”
Henry studied his son’s face, but the moon was obscured by clouds and the stars, too, were hidden. He’d always found it easy to detect lies and falsehoods, for all but the most practiced liars gave subtle signs that they were not telling the truth. It was a useful talent for a king, so why did it fail him when he needed it most? Why could he not tell when his sons were being truthful and when they were playing him false?
Putting Hal’s veracity to the test, he demanded to know the identities of the other conspirators. Hal readily reeled off the names of prominent barons of the Limousin, including a few whose involvement had not been known to Henry. Raymond of Turenne was expected to arrive by next week, along with his son Boso and Bernart du Casnac, his son-in-law, he confided, and he wanted the chance to talk them out of throwing their lot in with Aimar, adding, “Now that you’re here, that should make my task easier, for their grievances are with Richard, not you.”
“So you want more time?”
“With so much at stake, Papa, I think it is worth my while to keep trying,” Hal said earnestly, and Henry released a breath as soft as a sigh, making his choice, the only one he could.
“Go back, then,” he said. “I will await word from you here.”
Hal returned to Limoges in a surly mood, tersely reported that he’d achieved his objective, allaying Henry’s suspicions and gaining them the time they needed to hire more routiers. But he’d then stalked off to his own quarters, and they could not help worrying that he was having second thoughts. Even Geoffrey was concerned, knowing how mercurial his brother could be, and after a hurried conference, they delegated several of their number to find out if Hal was indeed prey to misgivings.
In addition to Geoffrey, they selected one of Hal’s closest friends, the Fleming Roger de Gaugi, and a man known for his battle prowess and his iron will, the head of the rapacious House of Lusignan, the Lord Joffroi. Hal did not look pleased to see them at his door, but he let them enter and sent his squire down to the buttery for wine. He then sprawled in the chair closest to the hearth and stared broodingly into the flames as if oblivious of their presence. There was something so deliberately dramatic about his pose, though, that Geoffrey was sure he was playing to his audience and could be coaxed into revealing what was troubling him.
And indeed, it only took a few probing questions to uncover the reason for Hal’s discontent-guilt. Not that he’d admit it, but when he grumbled about Henry’s trusting nature-a charge rarely if ever brought against the English king-Geoffrey found it easy enough to draw the natural conclusion. Hal felt remorseful that he’d taken advantage of their father’s desperate need to believe in his innocence. Geoffrey did not begrudge Hal a twinge or two of conscience; he’d occasionally had them himself. But he had to be sure Hal did not mean to act upon those regrets, and he drew up a stool next to his brother.
“I know what you’re feeling, Hal,” he said, not altogether truthfully, for he was capable of unsentimental, pragmatic assessments that eluded his brother altogether. “You are not comfortable relying upon deception or guile. But we fight with what weapons we have at hand, and if we see an enemy’s weakness, we’d be fools not to make use of it.”
“I know,” Hal admitted. His brother was right; he did not take naturally to deceit, preferred a more forthright, straightforward way. He was sorry he’d had to deceive his father, but why did he have to rush to Richard’s rescue?
