tomb, and to escape this wretched, wet isle, at least for a while! It has always amazed me that I’ve been able to avoid the joint evil, for it is like living underwater in England,” Eleanor said, and laughed.
“Your son’s plea must have touched your husband’s heart, Madame. Did you not tell me that his last wish was for the king to forgive you?”
“So Tilda said in her letter.” Eleanor sat down in the window-seat as Amaria hastened over to pour wine for them both. Clinking their cups playfully together, they drank to “a quick departure and calm sailing.” But after a time, Eleanor set her cup down and when Amaria glanced over, she saw that the queen was no longer smiling.
“Madame, is something amiss?”
“I am not sure, Amaria. I find myself wondering,” Eleanor said, “what he is up to now?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
September 1183
Rouen, Normandy
As they approached the door of the great cathedral, Henry’s step slowed and Eleanor gave him an inquiring look. “I am sorry,” he said, very softly, “but I cannot do this.”
“I understand,” she said, just as softly, and then, for the benefit of their audience, “I just had an idea, my lord. Whilst I go inside, you can go over to the palace to see Archbishop Rotrou, and we will meet you there afterward.”
Robert de Neubourg had stopped when he realized they were no longer following him. “I think that is an excellent suggestion, my liege. I am sure a visit from you would cheer my uncle greatly, for he grows weaker by the day, poor soul.”
Henry found something ghoulish about the dean’s preoccupation with his uncle’s health; he suspected Robert was far more concerned with the looming church vacancy than with Rotrou’s mortality. All that mattered to him now, though, was escaping what he was not yet ready to do-pay a visit to his son’s tomb. Seizing upon Eleanor’s subterfuge, he gave her a grateful smile, declaring that he would go straightaway to see Archbishop Rotrou, and was soon striding off, with most of his entourage hurrying to keep pace.
The others stayed with Eleanor and Tilda, following as the dean escorted them into the cathedral. They found excuses to remain behind in the nave, though, knowing that the queen would want privacy while she prayed at her son’s tomb. Holding a lantern aloft, the dean led the way down the stairs, keeping up a running commentary about the large crowds coming to the young king’s sepulcher. “Shall I ask one of the canons to clear the crypt of pilgrims so you may pray in peace, Madame?”
When Eleanor agreed, he beckoned to the young canon standing vigil by the door. After exchanging a few words, he turned back to the queen and her daughter. “The pilgrims have already been removed, Madame, for your sons are within and they wanted time alone with the young king.”
Eleanor was so startled that she almost slipped on the worn stone steps. Richard and Geoffrey together? She very much wanted to believe they could resolve their differences at Hal’s tomb, but that did not seem likely to her, not knowing her sons as she did. Robert trailed after her as she continued down the stairs and would have entered with her had Tilda not intervened, diplomatically suggesting that the dean show her around the cathedral whilst the queen prayed. He looked disappointed, not wanting to miss the queen’s reunion with her sons, but the Duchess of Saxony was smiling at him expectantly, and he yielded as graciously as he could, casting one last wistful glance over his shoulder at the queen as the canon opened the door for her.
The undercroft was lit by wall torches, but Eleanor still wished she’d thought to ask the dean for his lantern. Candles flamed around Hal’s tomb, and she could make out Geoffrey’s figure, kneeling in prayer. She did not see Richard, though. As she stepped forward, movement caught her eye, and she found herself facing her youngest son. She’d not seen John for almost two years, and those had been eventful years for him. He’d grown quite a bit, although he was obviously not going to be as tall as his brothers. His body had taken on the unmistakable signs of adolescence, and if he was not yet ready to flaunt a beard, he did look as if he had to shave now and then. Her son at sixteen.
In the past, he’d been as elusive as a wood sprite. She was surprised, therefore, when he came toward her instead of retreating back into the shadows. “Madame,” he said formally, showing he’d mastered his lessons in courtesy and manners. But then he flashed a sudden, impish grin. “I am John, your son.”
He had eyes like a fox, Eleanor thought, golden and alert and wary. “I am not likely to forget you, John,” she said dryly. “I was present at your birth, after all. If I looked surprised, it is because I thought you were still in England.”
“I reached Rouen three days ago. My father did not mention that he’d summoned me?” He still smiled, but she saw that it rankled to think he’d been forgotten.
“I only arrived this afternoon, so Harry has not had time to tell me much of anything. I did not even unpack yet, wanted to come here first.”
They’d been speaking quietly, so as not to disturb Geoffrey’s prayers. But he’d still heard the murmur of voices and turned toward the sound. At the sight of his mother, conflicting emotions chased across his face-both pleasure and unease.
John glanced from Eleanor to Geoffrey, back to Eleanor again. “I am sure I can find some mischief to get into,” he said, and headed for the stairs. Pleasantly surprised by his sensitivity, Eleanor thanked him and then approached Geoffrey.
“Maman…it gladdens me to see you. I suppose you cannot say the same, though.”
“I’ll not deny that I was wroth with you and Hal. I thought the pair of you had more sense than to get entangled with Aimar and my malcontent barons.”
Geoffrey was running his hand over the cold marble of his brother’s sepulcher. “I am truly sorry, Maman.”
“Sorry that you rebelled, Geoffrey? Or that you lost?”
“Both,” he admitted, and was taken aback when she smiled.
“I was remembering,” she said, “that when your father asked me that question, I gave that very same answer.”
Geoffrey expelled his breath slowly. “I was afraid you’d blame me for Hal’s death.”
“It is enough that we answer for our own sins without being held to account for the sins of others. I understand your frustration over Harry’s refusal to grant you Richmond and Nantes, I truly do. But your grievance was with your father, not with Richard. What you and Hal did was no better than banditry.”
Geoffrey looked down at Hal’s tomb. “I would gladly undo it if only I could, Maman.”
“I know,” she said and she did, for who knew more about vain regrets than she? Crossing the space between them, she held out her hand. He was quick to grasp it and she drew him to her. Holding him close, she found her eyes stinging. If only she could have embraced Hal like this, too!
Geoffrey kissed her on the cheek, then stepped back, looking past her toward the stairs. “Shall we speak louder for your benefit, Johnny?”
John looked abashed at being caught eavesdropping so openly. “I guess you would not believe I’d stopped to remove a pebble from my shoe?”
This time, with their eyes unwaveringly upon him, he really did depart. Once she was sure he had gone, Eleanor said pensively, “Passing strange that I must admit this about my own son, but I do not know John at all.”
“None of us do, Maman, and that includes Papa. He cherishes this image of Johnny as his only loyal son, obedient and affectionate and trustworthy. Whether that is the real Johnny or not remains to be seen.”
Eleanor was struck by Geoffrey’s perception-and by his cynicism. Had she and Harry taught him that? Most likely they had. Kissing her hand with a playful flourish, Geoffrey said, “I’d best keep an eye on Johnny. I will await you up in the nave, Maman.”
Grateful that he was giving her this time alone with Hal, she crossed to his tomb and, kneeling upon the hard tile floor, she began to pray for the soul of her son.
