his chair. So the French king was sensitive to slights upon his manhood. He marked that down as a useful fact to know and set his wine cup aside, leaning forward in his seat.
“You are bluffing for the same reason that my father is bluffing, because neither one of you wants to risk all upon one throw of the dice. I am paying you a compliment, for no capable commander commits his men to a pitched battle unless he is confident he will win or he has no other choice. Hellfire, Philippe, even I do not want to fight at Chateauroux and you know what they say of me-that I get drunk on bloodlust the way other men do on wine!”
Philippe looked taken aback, but when Richard grinned at him, he grinned back. “Let’s talk then,” he agreed, “about how your father and I save face and come away with enough to satisfy us both. And when this is done, I would like you to visit Paris…as my honored guest. I got to know both Hal and Geoffrey, would like to know you better, too.”
I daresay you do, Richard thought, for what better weapons can you have against my father than his own sons? “I will give it serious consideration,” he promised, and as soon as he said it, he realized that he meant it.
“ So if I agree to let Philippe hold on to the castles he took at Issoudun and Freteval, he will agree to a two- year truce?” When Richard confirmed it, Henry regarded him skeptically. “And what do I get out of it?”
“You get what you want,” Richard said impatiently, “a chance to defer your reckoning with Philippe. That is your favorite tactic, after all, Papa…delay and delay and delay again. It has served you well in the past; think how long you’ve managed to keep Philippe in suspense over Alys and the Vexin.”
“Are you telling me that you now want to wed the girl? Or that you’re willing to hand over the Vexin?”
“I was not being critical of your stratagem,” Richard insisted. “Of course I am not willing to yield the Vexin to Philippe. And since I have no great interest in wedding Alys, what else can we do but put Philippe off? What I am saying is what we both know, that you do not want to meet the French army on the field. So how much time are you willing to waste here whilst you and Philippe swap threats? Of course we can always go with one suggestion being bandied about-that you resolve your differences by choosing your best knights to joust on your behalf. The last I heard, men were proposing Philip of Flanders, Henri of Champagne, and the Count of Hainault as the French champions, and Will Marshal, your friend de Mandeville, and me as yours.”
By now Henry and Richard were both laughing, for in that, they were in full agreement: that war was not a game and ought not to be treated like one. “Very well,” Henry said, “let him keep those damned castles…at least for now. I’ve matters to deal with in Brittany, cannot spend the rest of the summer camping out here in Berry.”
Henry paused then, looking pensively at his son. “We can accomplish a great deal when we are united, Richard. If there is trust between us, what could we not do together?”
If that was meant as an olive branch, Richard made no move to grasp it. “Yes,” he said, “trust is essential,” but he knew better, for he knew the old man would never trust him. Once that awareness had hurt, but no more. He no longer cared if he had his father’s trust or respect. He wanted only what was his birthright, to be openly acknowledged as the heir to the English throne, and he meant to do whatever he must to secure his legacy… starting with a trip to Paris.
Leon was one of the most remote, inaccessible areas of Brittany, and its viscount had liked to boast that he “feared neither God nor man.” He’d long posed a threat to ducal control of Brittany, and more than once Henry had led campaigns to quell his rebellions. He’d eventually broken faith one time too many and Geoffrey had seized the barony, compelling the viscount to make a penitential pilgrimage to atone for a lifetime of spectacular sins and disinheriting his sons. Upon Geoffrey’s death in Paris, the sons promptly rebelled again, capturing two ducal strongholds. After concluding the truce with Philippe, Henry led an army into Brittany and retook the castles. He then visited Nantes in order to see his grandson.
Henry was cradling Arthur in his arms, looking for the moment more like a doting grandfather than the man who cast such a formidable shadow over Brittany. Constance was neither charmed nor placated by this glimpse of her father-in-law’s softer side and had to dig her nails into her palm to resist the urge to snatch her son out of his grasp. The Breton barons were just as unhappy and, like their duchess, more angry than grateful for his punitive expedition into Leon, as his campaign only underscored their subordination to the English Crown. Not that they needed a reminder, for after Geoffrey’s death, Henry had dismissed Raoul de Fougeres as Seneschal of Brittany and replaced him with the Angevin lord, Maurice de Craon.
Arthur, a curious, lively baby, seemed content in this stranger’s embrace, but Constance was reaching her breaking point and signaled to the nurse, hoping Henry would take the hint. He did and reluctantly handed his grandson over to the woman, saying to Constance, “I think he looks like Geoffrey, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
Constance’s elder daughter was tugging at Henry’s tunic. He’d brought lavish gifts for the children: an expensive ivory rattle, carved wooden tops, whistles, felt puppets, balls, and poupees for the girls, one of linen and the other of wood, with yellow yarn hair and their own wardrobe. What had won Aenor over, though, was his willingness to kneel on the ground and show her how to spin the tops. Now she brandished her favorite new toy, a leather ball stuffed with wool and dyed a bright shade of red, entreating her grandfather to “play catch” with her.
Before Constance could intervene, Henry assured Aenor he’d like nothing better, and clasping her little hand in his, he suggested that he and Constance take a stroll in the gardens. This did not meet with the approval of her barons, who had been sticking closer to their duchess than her own shadow, but Henry had already started for the door, matching his pace to Aenor’s toddler’s steps, and Constance had no choice but to follow.
The day was overcast without even a hint of a breeze, for so far September had been as humid and sultry as August. With Constance’s spaniel leading the way, they crossed the castle bailey and entered the gardens, fragrant with the last flowering of summer blossoms. Constance settled upon a turf bench, watching with a stiff smile as her daughter and the English king tossed the ball back and forth. He showed surprising patience with the little girl, continuing to play until she lost interest and began to throw the ball for the spaniel. Only then did he return to Constance and drew her to her feet, saying that they could talk as they walked.
They circled the grassy mead in silence, for Constance was not able to feign pleasure in his company; she thought he should count himself lucky that she managed to be civil. Henry paused in the shade of a pear tree, for it afforded them a good view of Aenor, but was distant enough to allow them to speak privately.
“I have been dealing with the duchess,” he said, “but now I would talk with my daughter-in-law. You have never liked me, Constance, and in all honesty, you have not given me much reason to be fond of you either. But we share a common interest that matters more than our personal ill will.”
“Yes…the Duchy of Brittany.”
He ignored her sarcasm. “That, too. But I am speaking about your children, my grandchildren. Their future is inextricably entwined with that of the duchy, and I want to make sure that they do not suffer because of adult missteps or mistakes.”
“What mistakes do you have in mind?”
“For one, the decision Geoffrey and you made to ally yourselves with the French king.” Henry’s voice was even, his face impassive, as if he were speaking of mundane matters, not the rebellion of his son. “As a stratagem, it had much to recommend it, with one great flaw. It had hopes of success only if Geoffrey lived to carry it out. Without him, you were likely to find yourself at Philippe’s mercy, and that is indeed what happened.”
Constance said nothing, and after a moment he resumed. “Philippe has made his intentions very clear. He means to deprive you of both legal and physical custody of your children. He will send the girls off to live in the households of their future husbands, men he will handpick for them. I would expect him to keep Arthur in Paris, ruling on his behalf until he comes of age. For your duchy, that will be more than twenty years with Philippe’s hand firmly on the helm, twenty years in which to mold your son into a ruler who’d put the interests of France above those of Brittany. As for you, he’ll marry you off as quickly as possible to a man of his sole choosing, possibly even one of inferior rank since his primary concern will be the loyalty of your new husband, and you can expect to live out your days on a remote manor far from the Breton borders-”
Constance could stand no more, for he was giving voice to all the fears that had haunted her nights since
