“At least Johnny has his youth and inexperience to explain away his misdeeds. That cannot be said for you, Geoffrey. In fact, I see your sins as twofold. Not only did you make war upon your brother, but you dragged Johnny into it, too. I expected better of you.”
Geoffrey prided himself upon his inner discipline, but this tested his self-control to the utmost. He could not help glancing toward John, disappointed although not truly surprised when his younger brother kept quiet. John flushed as their eyes met, but his pang of guilt was more easily overcome than his instincts for self-preservation. He’d never understood how his brothers could defy their father so boldly, envying them their swagger and their apparent indifference to Henry’s anger. He’d been blessed-or cursed-with a vivid imagination, and when he thought of his life, he envisioned a turbulent sea, with the only land the small, unstable island of his father’s favor, an isle that could disappear under the waves in any storm.
“Well, Geoffrey?” Henry demanded. “Have you nothing to say?”
Eleanor had long ago mastered that skill so useful to kings, the ability to read others as a monk read his Psalter, a faculty also useful to prisoners, and she caught the warning signs-the jut of Geoffrey’s chin, the clenched muscles along his jawline. Deciding it was time to intervene, she said coolly, “I have something to say. I, too, expected better of you, Geoffrey, and I am very disappointed in you. But John is not a child and is old enough to answer for his own mistakes.”
That earned her a grateful look from Geoffrey, a sullen one from John, and a mistrustful one from Henry, who claimed control of the conversation again. “This is how it will be. I have convened a council for this week; the archbishopric of Canterbury has been vacant since April and it is time to select a successor. At that council I am going to have the three of you make a public avowal of peace, swear not to take up arms against one another again, and give none any reason to doubt the truth of your reconciliation.”
Neither Geoffrey nor John raised any objections, but Richard was shaking his head in disbelief. “And that is it? They attacked my lands without provocation or justification and they are not to be punished for it? Where is the justice in that?”
“The sooner we put this embarrassment behind us, the better,” Henry said impatiently. “The last thing I want to do is to drag this farce out any longer than need be. All of you are to do as you’re bidden for once with no further arguments. And heed me well on this. It is not to happen again-ever. Now it is done and let that be the end of it.”
No one spoke up, but they all knew this was not “the end of it,” even Henry.
Constance had been willing to accompany Geoffrey to London, but he’d insisted that she remain in Brittany with their child, saying that there was no reason they both should have to endure his father’s recriminations and he might well be kept in England for the foreseeable future. But to her surprise, she’d gotten a message from him in mid-December, summoning her to meet him in Rouen. The winter was mild enough for her to bring their seven- month-old daughter, and she arrived in high spirits, pleased that they’d be able to celebrate Aenor’s first Christmas together and bringing Geoffrey a gift sure to delight him-word that she was pregnant again. He reacted as she’d expected and they celebrated the news in bed. Afterward, they had food sent up to their chamber and enjoyed a private supper for two.
“ This is delicious, Geoffrey.” Constance’s expectations had been low, for it was an ember fast day, but the castle’s cooks had prepared a savory blanc manger made with almond milk, rice, and pike instead of chicken. “Give me another helping…and I am not being a glutton. After all, I am eating for two now.”
“To judge by the way you’ve made that pike disappear, you could be carrying twins.” Reaching under the covers, he slid his hand across her abdomen. “Though as flat as your belly is, it is hard to imagine you swollen up like a melon.”
“Thank you for the compliment…I think. It is early in the pregnancy yet; my midwife says he’ll most likely be born in the summer.”
“He’ll be born? So the midwife also told you that you’re carrying a boy? Did she happen to mention what color eyes he’ll have?”
“Tease me all you like, but I know it will be a son. I just know. Indeed, since we already have Aenor, I hope I birth only boys from now on.”
“Why? It can be argued that a ruler with too many sons is no better off than the one without any. I’d say my family history proves there can be too much of a good thing.”
“I like to think we’ll raise our sons better than your parents did, Geoffrey. Surely it cannot be that difficult to foster affection between siblings.”
“Even amongst the spawn of the Demon Countess of Anjou?”
“You are entirely too proud of your fire-and-brimstone heritage,” she said with mock severity, but when he grinned, she could not help grinning back. “I’d rather have sons because daughters are more vulnerable to the vagaries of fate. Once she is married off, a girl is utterly dependent upon the whims of her husband. I remember all too well how it was for me-suddenly uprooted from my family and the only world I knew, sent off to be raised in the household of the man responsible for ruining my father. I’d not want that for a daughter of mine, and since girls are born to be pawns, better to have only sons.”
“But I was given no more say in our marriage than you were, Constance,” he protested. “Sons, too, are expected to wed for their family’s benefit.”
“It is not the same, Geoffrey. In the eyes of the Church and the law, a wife is subject to her husband’s will, and if he maltreats her, what remedy has she? I would not want a daughter of mine to find herself a pampered hostage like Alys or humiliated like Philippe’s queen.”
Geoffrey had never given much thought to the plight of highborn brides, but he discovered now that it was very troubling to imagine Aenor in an alien land, under a stranger’s control. “My sisters seem content enough, though. So if we take care in choosing the husbands for our daughters, surely we can avoid some of those pitfalls,” he said, while silently vowing that Aenor would not be wed until she was at least twenty.
“I hope so,” Constance agreed, without much conviction. She had revealed more of herself than she’d intended, for she was not accustomed to sharing her most intimate thoughts. Lying in bed with her husband, though, she found it surprisingly easy to speak with such candor, and she realized how much she’d come to trust him in the three years since their marriage. Marveling at the unlikely turns her life had taken, she reached over to snatch a slice of bread from his plate, for she was still ravenous. “I was so eager to tell you of my pregnancy that we did not discuss why you’re in Rouen. How did you manage to slip your father’s tether?”
Geoffrey set their tray down in the floor rushes, keeping a dish of dried figs for Constance to munch on. “Make yourself comfortable, darling, for this is quite a story. My father raged at us as expected, and somehow I found myself shouldering the blame for Johnny, too. I am sorry to report that my little brother practices Hal’s kind of seamanship. Whilst he did not exactly push me out of his ark, neither did he throw me a lifeline.”
“What penalties did your father impose upon you?”
“This is where it gets interesting-none. We all had to swear to uphold the peace in a public ceremony, but that was it. Richard almost had a seizure, he was so wroth.”
“I can well imagine,” she said dryly. “What of Aquitaine? Does your father still intend to claim it for John?”
“I think he has reluctantly concluded that Richard will hold on to Aquitaine until his dying breath, for he has begun to talk again of Ireland for Johnny. The lad seems to be of two minds about his prospects, eager for his first taste of freedom, but greatly disappointed that it shall not be Aquitaine. Understandable, for governing the Irish is like herding cats.”
“So Richard has won…” Constance had known this for some time; Henry’s intervention had made it inevitable. She still felt a keen regret, though, for the dream was not an easy one to relinquish. It would have been a great thing, to be wife and mother to kings. Nothing could have protected her family more than a crown.
“That remains to be seen.”
“What do you mean, Geoffrey? You said that your father could not consider changing the succession as long as Richard holds Aquitaine.”
“I know, but I am no longer so sure of that. Listen to the rest of my account and then judge for yourself. My father next turned his attention to the vacant See at Canterbury. He wanted the monks to elect Baldwin, the Bishop of Worcester, but they balked. So he sent Johnny and me to Canterbury to make the monks see reason.” He smiled
