When he was upset or angry, Richard paced like Henry, and as he strode up and down her chamber, Eleanor thought she could have been looking at her husband in his youth. Richard was taller, but otherwise they had the same powerful build, the same vibrant coloring, and for certes, the same fiery temper. So far Richard had turned their reunion into a recital of his paternal grievances, and she was disappointed but not entirely surprised. She’d hoped that fighting the rebels together might have brought them closer, although without any real expectations of it being so, for they were too much alike to dwell in harmony for long. She thought it was a blessing that Richard would have his own sphere of power in Aquitaine, that unlike Hal, he’d not be dependent upon his father’s largesse. Belatedly becoming aware that Richard had stopped speaking, she looked up to find her son regarding her reproachfully.
“Are you even listening to me, Maman?”
“Of course I am,” she assured him, not altogether truthfully. “You were telling me about the troubadour, Bertran de Born.”
“As I was saying, Bertran boasted that his castle at Autafort was impregnable, but Alfonso and I took it in just seven days. I then gave it to his brother and sent him to my father for judgment, where he beguiled Papa by professing great sorrow over Hal’s death and writing a planh lamenting his loss. So what does Papa do? He not only pardons the man, but he restores Autafort Castle to him!”
He sounded so indignant that Eleanor hid a smile. “You must bear in mind, Richard, that your father’s wound is still raw and bleeding. Is it truly so surprising that he’d show mercy to a man who shares his grief?”
Richard would never be able to fathom the widespread mourning over Hal’s death, seeing it as one last trick that his brother had managed to play on him from the grave. Resisting the temptation to remind his mother that the “grief-stricken” troubadour had once dubbed Hal the “Little King of Lesser Land,” he said, “I do not deny that Papa is still grieving. But how do you explain his action in demanding that I return control of my Poitevin castles to him?”
“That is indeed another matter,” she conceded, “and I intend to speak with him about it. I may not be able to get him to change his mind, but at least I can learn what his reasoning was.”
Richard was sure he already knew the answer-that his father did not trust him. He’d debated sharing his suspicions with his mother, not wanting to cast a shadow over her release. But he saw now that she needed to know the truth, and he crossed to her side, kneeling so he could look intently into her face.
“Has Papa told you that he has forgiven you because Hal asked it of him?” When she shook her head, he warned, “He will. And when he does, Maman, do not believe it. The real reason he has sent for you is to thwart the French king. In addition to demanding that Papa return the French Vexin to him, Philippe is claiming that Hal assigned certain other lands to Marguerite as her dowry. Papa denied it, insisting that these lands were yours and as you’d assigned them to Hal only for his lifetime, they now revert back to you, not Marguerite. So you see, Maman, he has an ulterior motive in-” He stopped in astonishment, for his mother had begun to laugh.
“Dearest, I have been married to that man for more than thirty years. Do you truly think I do not know all the twists and turns of that formidable brain of his? Of course he has an ulterior motive. He always has an ulterior motive, usually two or three. Why did he summon me from England? I daresay you’re right about Marguerite’s dower lands. But he likely did it, too, because Hal asked it of him, and to please Tilda, and possibly even to please you.” Eleanor laughed again, thinking how shocked he’d be if she were to confide that she’d always found her husband’s sharp, subtle intelligence to be as much of an aphrodisiac as his muscular strength or boundless energy.
Richard had gotten to his feet and was studying her in obvious bafflement. “How can you be so tolerant of his intrigues and scheming? He has taken away ten years of your life, Maman, yet you do not talk about him as if he is your enemy, and I do not understand why.”
“Because he is also my husband, Richard, and that complicates matters more than you know. We are both encumbered by our history and by all that we’ve shared over the years, good and bad.” It occurred to Eleanor that this was the first time she and Richard were having a conversation that was adult to adult, not mother to son. “This means that we can never truly be free of each other, however much we may wish it.”
“You make marriage sound like a mysterious malady that has no cure, Maman. If that is so, I am glad I’ve been spared it.”
“Well, eventually you’ll have to risk it,” she said with a grin, “for you’ll need an heir for your duchy and your kingdom.” He grinned, too, and she realized that he was still coming to terms with the momentous change wrought by Hal’s death. “Speaking of marriage,” she continued, “I gather you have no great desire to marry the French king’s sister Alys?”
He shrugged. “What would I gain by it? The girl has no marriage portion to speak of. If Papa were one for getting in his cups, I’d wonder if he’d been sober the day he made that deal with Louis, for it was a poor bargain indeed.”
“His primary concern then was in getting the French to recognize Hal as his heir and you and Geoffrey as the future rulers of Aquitaine and Brittany. But if it is not to be Alys, you ought to be considering other matches, dearest. Have you discussed this with Harry?”
“We’ve been rather busy in recent months, Maman. He did once mention the daughter of the Holy Roman Emperor. A pity Alfonso has no eligible female relatives. Of course he is already an ally, so it would make more sense to look further afield, mayhap to Navarre.”
Eleanor looked at him fondly, very pleased to see the drift of his thoughts. If he was considering Aragon or Navarre, both Houses hostile to Count Raimon, that meant he was thinking ahead to the day when he could reassert their claim to Toulouse. “Yes, Navarre is certainly a possibility,” she agreed, as she settled down to enjoy a simple pleasure other mothers could take for granted, but one which had been long denied her-mulling over potential brides for her son.
Henry had gathered his family together on Michaelmas Eve, and there was an air of anticipation, for all expected him to reveal when he would formally recognize Richard as his heir. There should have been no suspense in such a straightforward announcement. But knowing Henry’s penchant for eleventh-hour surprises, both Eleanor and Richard were on edge, and as the queen glanced around the chamber, she thought that Geoffrey and Constance seemed rather tense, too. Only Geoff, Heinrich, and Tilda appeared utterly at ease. Remembering John then, she located him in one of the window-seats, sipping wine as he watched the others, and she felt a small dart of regret that he seemed so solitary, always on the outside looking in. She’d concluded years ago that she and Henry had made some great mistakes with their older sons, failing to foster any sense of solidarity or family unity, and she could not help thinking now that they’d gone astray with John, too. It was too late for Hal, but was there time to repair the damage done with the others?
Sensing that his audience was growing restive, Henry moved to the center of the solar. He’d not been looking forward to this, sure that he’d encounter initial opposition from Richard and Eleanor. Now, though, he realized that his reluctance had deeper roots, that he was loath to bestow upon another what had always been Hal’s. He recognized the illogic of it, for he knew that Richard would be a better king than Hal. At least his brain knew it, but his heart was another matter. There was an awful finality about the declaration, as if he were throwing one last shovel of dirt upon his son’s grave.
He’d never had much patience for sentimentality, though, especially his own. “I am sure that what I am about to say will come as no surprise,” he said, determined to get this over with as quickly as possible. “I intend to convene a great council and announce to the lords of the realm that Richard will be king upon my death.”
Richard was not sure what response was expected of him, and he wondered why things always had to be so awkward with his father. To say “Thank you” seemed inappropriate, but it also seemed ungracious to say nothing at all. “I will do my best to meet your expectations. I’ll not let you or my mother down,” he said, sending a smile winging Eleanor’s way. She smiled back, and he was grateful that she could be here for this moment.
“I am sure that you will be a good king,” Henry said, with a smile of his own. “It is a bittersweet bequest I am giving you, though. You’ll have a vast, unquiet empire to rule. Aquitaine alone would be enough for any man, for your mother’s barons are as perverse and faithless a lot as can be found in all of Christendom. But you’ll also have to govern an island kingdom, as well as Normandy, Anjou, Touraine, and Maine.”
“Enough to keep me busy for certes,” Richard agreed, not sure where his father was going with this. Neither was Eleanor, and she was watching Henry with a small frown creasing her forehead.
“After giving the matter much thought,” Henry continued, “I think I have come up with a way to ease your
