Why could he not have stayed out of it? Was that so much to ask?
“It is only to be expected that you’d have some regrets,” Geoffrey said, in the reassuring, sympathetic tone that had coaxed any number of skittish women into his bed. “But you cannot dwell upon these regrets, Hal. It is too late. That ship has sailed.”
Roger and Joffroi had no idea what he was talking about, but Hal did, and he mustered up a wry smile. “You mean ‘That ark has sailed,’ do you not?” The shared memory was a bracing one, though, reminding him that they were in this together. “You need not fret,” he assured his brother. “I am not losing heart. I just wish there’d been another way.”
“So do I,” Geoffrey said, with utter sincerity. Exchanging glances with the other men, Geoffrey saw that they agreed with him; the crisis had passed. He started to talk, then, about military matters-how many men they could expect from the French king, how long it would take them to finish replacing the city walls that Richard had destroyed, whether the Count of Toulouse could be lured into joining their alliance.
Hal stretched his long legs toward the fire, accepting a wine cup from his squire. In better spirits now, he told them about his ugly exchange with Richard. “I would barter the surety of my soul to bring that bastard down,” he confessed, and when he glanced up, he was heartened to see that they were all united in their loathing for his arrogant churl of a brother.
Geoffrey had been hoping for such an opening. “Actually, there is something you can do, Hal, to make victory more likely. You can call William Marshal back into your service. For the life of me, I do not understand why you let so able a knight go. His battlefield judgment is solid, his courage unquestioned, and he handles a sword as well as any man I’ve ever seen. We need all the Marshals we can get.”
Roger de Gaugi had been waiting for this chance, too, and quickly added his voice to Geoffrey’s, urging Hal to bring Will Marshal back. Hal was not surprised by his praise, for he knew Roger and Will were good friends and had often partnered in tournaments. He took more notice when Joffroi de Lusignan also argued for the Marshal’s recall, as there had long been bad blood between Will and the de Lusignans.
Acknowledging that now, the knight said bluntly that he knew Marshal loved him not. “He has always blamed me for the death of his uncle in that ambush, and I was never able to convince him that we’d wanted very much to take Salisbury alive. Our differences notwithstanding, I would be the first to welcome him back.”
In truth, Hal wanted Will back, too. He’d begun to miss him almost as soon as Will had ridden off, and he’d toyed with the idea of recalling him. His pride had kept him from doing it, though, for he was not willing to risk the humiliation if Marshal balked at coming. The other men were presenting him with an opportunity now to reach out to Will while still saving his pride; if Will refused, he could always say that he’d never truly wanted him back, that he’d agreed only because his brother and friends had asked it of him.
“Very well,” he said graciously, “if it means that much to you all, I’ll take him back.” And he did not object when Geoffrey at once sent for his chamberlain, not wanting Hal to change his mind during the night. When the man entered, Hal instructed him to go in search of Will Marshal and tell Will that “I am summoning him in good faith, confident that he’ll not fail me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
March 1183
Limoges, Limousin
Henry and his men drew rein, gazing at the newly fortified walls of the ville. So their scout had been right when he’d reported that they had torn down more than half a dozen churches to get timber for the walls. Henry’s mouth tightened; this was hardly an indication of the peaceful intentions Hal had avowed. No one spoke; he knew he’d been the only one to have doubted the scout’s story, insisting upon seeing for himself.
“My lord king?” Maurice de Craon nudged his mount closer to Henry’s. “Shall we continue on to the cite?”
Henry found himself torn between amusement and exasperation, for he well knew what Maurice was really saying. They’d been greatly relieved when he’d agreed to enter the cite rather than the ville, and they were worrying now that he might have changed his mind. “You need not fret, old friend,” he said, with just a touch of sarcasm. “I daresay we’ll get a warmer welcome at the bishop’s palace than the viscount’s castle.”
The words were no sooner out of his mouth than it happened. His stallion was shifting restlessly and tossed its head up just in time to take an arrow in the neck, which pierced the carotid artery. Blood spurted wildly, all over Henry, the horse, and even Maurice de Craon. Henry’s years of horsemanship now stood him in good stead, and as the animal’s legs began to buckle, he flung himself from the saddle to escape the fate of the Scots king, who’d been pinned by his own mount when it was slain at Alnwick. His horrified men moved hastily to get between their blood- splattered king and the unseen bowman on the town walls, holding up their shields to deflect any more arrows. None came. There was only silence from the ville as Henry got to his feet, wiping blood from his face, and stared down at his dying mount.
Richard was exhausted and angry by the time he got back to Aixe that evening. He’d ridden south to investigate a report that routiers had been seen near Pierre-Buffiere and found it was even worse than he’d feared. A large band of men led by one of the most notorious of the routier captains, a Basque known as Sancho of Savannac, had seized control of the citadel at Pierre-Buffiere. This was another of Viscount Aimar’s castles that had been taken away from him by Richard, and it was now back in rebel hands, for Richard knew that Sancho was in the hire of Aimar and the Viscount of Turenne. He’d not had enough men to challenge their occupation, could only watch from a safe distance and fume.
He was dismounting in the bailey at Aixe when he saw Geoff coming toward him. The look on his half brother’s face warned him that he was not about to hear good news, and he listened grimly as Geoff gave him a succinct account of the latest attack upon their father. “He was not hurt, though?”
Geoff shook his head. “But that was by God’s Grace, for if the stallion had not raised his head at that very moment, Papa would have taken the arrow in his chest.”
Richard had not expected them to be so brazen, to make another attempt on Henry’s life. But mayhap it was for the best if this latest treachery had opened his father’s eyes to the truth. “What did he say about it? Surely he must know by now that Hal is less trustworthy than a hungry weasel.”
“He has not spoken much about it, except to express his sorrow at losing such a fine horse. So I cannot say if he is still deluding himself or not. But you have not heard all of it, Richard. Who do you think just rode in, bold as you please? And this time Hal brought along his partner in crime!”
Richard swore, making use of one of Henry’s favorite oaths. “Where are they?” And when Geoff said that Henry had taken them up to his bedchamber, he flung the reins of his stallion at the closest of his knights and headed for the keep.
Geoff hurried to keep pace. “What are you going to do?”
“I’d not miss this performance for all the gold in Montpellier!”
Reaching Henry’s bedchamber, Geoff was about to knock on the door when Richard shoved it open, with enough force to slam it into the wall. “I hope the mummery has not started yet?”
Hal scowled at the sight of the intruders. It was Geoffrey, though, who seemed most eager for a confrontation. “You are looking surprisingly well, Richard. You must have found a very strong soap to wash all that blood off your hands.”
“I make no apologies for what I did, and I will do it again if the need arises. When men invade my lands, they will pay with their lives, be they lowborn routiers or Breton knights. My only regret is that the truly guilty ones are likely to escape the reckoning they so richly deserve!”
Richard was easily the taller of the two, but Geoffrey stood his ground, and the look that passed between them was so virulent that both Henry and Geoff acted instinctively and stepped forward in case they needed to intercede physically. Henry had reached a milestone-his fiftieth birthday-that week, and he looked every single one of those years at the moment.
“Enough!” Henry said wearily. “I told Hal and Geoffrey that I’d hear them out. You are welcome to remain, Richard, and you, too, Geoff, but only if you keep your mouths shut. If you cannot do that, go.”
