Morgan shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable with the silence. But when he glanced toward Geoff, the other man shook his head and he deferred to his cousin, keeping his eyes on Henry, though. He’d listened without speaking as Morgan had stumbled through an account of Geoffrey’s last days and then moved across the solar to the window. Morgan yearned to slip away, for there were still awkward questions to be asked about Geoffrey’s death and he did not want to be the one to answer them. He looked over again at Geoff and Willem. Neither one spoke; they seemed content to take their cues from Henry, and Morgan could not tell if they shared his fervent desire to disappear.
This was by far the most difficult task of his life, and yet he’d volunteered for it, for he’d soon realized that neither the French king nor the Countess of Champagne nor Geoffrey’s knights cared about breaking the news gently to Henry. He was convinced that Henry had treated Geoffrey shabbily. But his own father had often insisted that Henry’s love for his children was heartfelt, and Morgan thought the king deserved to hear of his son’s death from a sympathetic source. Trapped now in Woodstock’s solar and feeling more and more like Daniel in the lion’s den, he found himself thinking that the bearers of such tragic tidings ought to have bells or clappers so they could warn others of their approach, much as lepers did.
When Henry finally spoke, Morgan flinched, for this was the question he’d been dreading. “Why was Geoffrey in Paris?”
“I…I do not…” he stammered, for he could neither lie to the king nor tell him the truth.
“He was there to take part in the tournament,” Geoff said quickly, and both Morgan and Willem winced at the transparency of the falsehood, for that did not explain why Geoffrey had been given a lavish state funeral by the French king. Geoff soon saw the weaknesses inherent in his “explanation” and, realizing the futility of trying to protect his father from the truth, he said no more.
Henry had spoken with his back still to them. When he turned at last, Morgan was shocked by how ravaged he looked, and he knew that Henry was not taken in by talk of tournaments, that he understood what Geoffrey’s presence in Paris meant. Once again a son had died in rebellion against him, and this time he’d been denied even a chance to make things right between them. For Geoffrey there’d been no sapphire rings, no promises of forgiveness, no avowals of affection. And as he realized what a burden this would be for Henry to bear, Morgan felt his own anger with the king ebbing away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of sorrow for his cousin and the father left to mourn him.
September began with a promise of perfection, and the women had been lured out into the gardens. They set up a trestle table under a shady chestnut tree and enjoyed wine, bread, cheese, and honeyed wafers. Afterward, Eleanor’s granddaughter Richenza played the French game jeu de paume with her attendants and several of Maud’s and Eleanor’s ladies; even Amaria gamely joined in as they dashed about the gardens batting the ball back and forth. Eleanor and Maud prudently assumed the role of spectators, watching with amusement as the younger women laughed and shrieked and attracted several knights who were quite happy to join in the fun.
“This was an excellent idea, Maud. I have not seen Richenza so merry in a fortnight.”
“I am glad to be of assistance.” Eleanor had explained that Richenza was downcast as the nuptials of the Scots king drew near. Only fourteen, she’d set her heart upon becoming Queen of Scotland and she was not yet reconciled to the Pope’s verdict. Pleased that she’d been able to cheer the girl up, Maud resolved to arrange for her granddaughters to spend some time at Winchester with Richenza. “Is Harry looking at another match for her?”
“Actually, he had an offer, one which would have made her a queen. Bela, the King of Hungary, expressed interest in wedding the English king’s granddaughter. But Harry seemed to feel that Hungary was the back of beyond and he never gave Bela a definite response. Bela eventually grew tired of waiting and approached the French king for Marguerite. Philippe was happy to accept the offer, and she will be departing for Hungary at summer’s end.”
Eleanor sounded sad, and Maud easily understood why. The remarriage of Hal’s widow was bound to stir up hurtful memories. “I’ve talked with my daughter-in-law about marrying again,” she confided, “for it has been five years since Hugh died. She says she has no interest in taking another husband and reminded me that I’ve been a widow for more than thirty years!”
Eleanor had never been surprised that Maud had not remarried, for widowhood was the only time in a woman’s life when she was not under a male’s authority. Maud had obviously relished her independence, raising her children, traveling, and proving to be a generous patron of the Church; she’d even founded a priory at Repton in Derbyshire. Eleanor suspected that she’d also discreetly taken lovers. No, it was very easy to understand why Maud had found life more enjoyable as a widow than as a wife.
“I always appreciated the irony, Maud, that canon law includes widows in the class of miserabiles personae, the miserable wretches deserving of special protection. I suppose the Church fathers thought any woman without a husband had to be an object of pity. Speaking for myself, I expect to have the chance to discover the joys of widowhood, for I plan to outlive Harry if only from spite.”
Eleanor grinned and Maud grinned back, but she was not completely sure that the queen was joking and she felt a pang of regret that their precarious rapprochement had been a casualty of Henry’s double-dealing. She’d seen them take tentative steps toward a marital peace as the years passed, and then watched sadly as it all ended when Henry used Eleanor to win his clash of wills with their son. “Are we caught up now on family gossip?” she asked lightly. “So far I’ve learned that Richard is wreaking havoc on the Count of Toulouse’s lands and your daughter in Castile has given birth to another girl and you have not heard lately from Geoffrey but you recently received a loving letter from Joanna in Sicily. Any other interesting rumors to relate?”
“I do have some news about my youngest son. Believe it or not, Harry has sent him back to Ireland.” Eleanor grinned again at the expression on Maud’s face. “For a man who rarely makes the same mistake twice, Harry acts like a dog chasing its tail where our sons are concerned. You may have heard that Hugh de Lacy, his justiciar for Ireland, was slain this summer. John had blamed de Lacy for much of his Irish follies, claiming the justiciar had acted to hinder his rule, and Harry of course accepted John’s story as gospel. So when he learned of de Lacy’s death, he decided it would be a good idea for John to return to Ireland and lay claim to de Lacy’s estates in Meath.” Her smile fading, she said, with real regret, “In all of Christendom, only Harry and John think that his second try will be any more successful than his first…and I am not even sure about John.”
“Grandmother!” Richenza was back, followed by Denise, Eleanor’s newest lady-in-waiting. “Grandfather is here! He just rode into the bailey!” Her duty done, the girl spun around and ran to greet Henry, with Denise right behind her. So only Maud was there to hear Eleanor mouth a colorful profanity.
“That does not sound like the most loving of spousal greetings,” she said dryly, and Eleanor summoned up a taut smile.
“The last time Harry was at Winchester, we had a particularly heated quarrel-about Richard, of course. We did not patch things up when he left, so I’d rather our first meeting not be a public one.”
“In other words, you’ve not yet forgiven him. Well, this is why friends have their uses. I’ll go out and welcome him whilst you slip out the side gate and return to your own chambers. I happen to be very good at creating a distraction,” Maud said with a wink and walked briskly along the path to the garden’s main gateway.
There she saw Richenza, the ladies, knights, and other men clustered around a small group of riders dismounting in the bailey. Making her way through the growing crowd, she greeted her cousin with a graceful curtsy and a playful smile. “My liege, you came all this way to visit with me? I am very flattered.”
She started to offer an explanation for Eleanor’s absence, but Henry gave her no chance. Stepping forward, he drew her into a wordless embrace, holding her so tightly that she knew something was wrong even before he murmured against her ear, “Thank God you are here, Maud. Eleanor will have need of you.”
Ignoring the other spectators, he moved toward the gardens. Maud trailed after him, but he gave her no chance to question him, opened the gate, and entered. When he closed the gate behind him, Maud took that to mean he did not want her to accompany him and she halted uncertainly, watching as he strode along the path. She was not surprised to see Eleanor emerge from the arbor, for the queen had finely honed instincts; on reflection, she’d probably concluded that his unexpected visits always boded ill.
“Cousin Maud?” Turning, she was delighted to recognize Morgan, and she kissed him fondly on both cheeks before asking him what she’d not had time to ask Henry. “We bring the worst news a mother could get,” he said somberly. “Geoffrey was injured in a French tournament and died a few days later.”
“Oh, no!” She clapped her hand to her mouth, staring at him in horror, and then swung back toward the gardens. Henry had reached Eleanor by now. Thankful they were out of earshot, Maud watched, tears stinging her
