on his feet. The only way that he ever indicated his awareness of Longchamp’s physical frailty was by this casual concern for the older man’s comfort, acknowledging Longchamp’s special needs without making a fuss about it. It was as close as Longchamp had come to acceptance in a life of rejection and he valued it almost as much as he did the chancellorship. His ambition had drawn him to Richard, after an earlier stint as a chancery clerk. But his fierce absolute loyalty was rooted in these small acts of unexpected kindness.
“How did your meeting with the French king go, my lord?” And when Richard said it had gone well, Longchamp felt secure enough to venture a small jest. “Has he forgiven you, then, for calling him a ‘vile recreant’ at Chatillon-sur-Indre?”
Richard grinned. “He’d have forgiven much worse, Guillaume. I made an interesting discovery at Mantes. Philippe is not only eager to ally himself with me. He is downright desperate to bring it about. He is a very clever lad, the French king. But he shares the same weakness that my father does-a tendency to undervalue his adversaries.”
“Will he support you at the Bonsmoulins conclave?”
“Yes, he will. We are going to demand that my father formally recognize me as his heir. I can no longer abide his infernal games-playing, need to have this settled ere I can depart for the Holy Land. If my foes think I may not become king, they’ll take advantage of my absence to stir up rebellions in Aquitaine and start courting my little brother’s favor in hopes of playing king-maker.”
“Do you truly think your lord father would dare to disinherit you in favor of John?”
Richard took his time in answering. “I am not sure, Guillaume. I do not doubt that he’d rather see John succeed him than me. Would he actually do it? If he thought he could get away with it, probably. He must know that I’d never accept it, though, and John’s reign would be the shortest in English history. Of course Philippe swears by all the saints that there is no doubt whatsoever, that he means to put John in my place even if it means war.”
Richard had been pacing as he talked. Stopping abruptly, he glanced toward his chancellor with an expression Longchamp could not easily read. “Philippe never misses an opportunity to sing that song. To hear him tell it, my father spends every waking moment scheming to rob me of my rightful heritage. But according to what I was told at Mantes, that is not exactly true. Apparently he found time to pay some nocturnal visits to my betrothed.”
Longchamp could not believe he’d heard correctly. “I…I am not sure I understand, my lord.”
“I think you do. Philip of Flanders was the one to break the news to me, but he was doing Philippe’s bidding. They claim that my father seduced Alys a few years back and this is the real reason why he is loath to allow our marriage. I suppose he thought I might balk at sharing her favors once we were wed.”
The chancellor was dumbfounded and suddenly fearful, feeling as if he were teetering upon the edge of a cliff where the slightest movement might send him plunging into a fatal fall. He’d not have thought the discord between the king and the duke could get any worse…until now. Adding a woman to the mix would do it, though. But how was he supposed to react to such news? What did Richard want him to say?
“My lord, I…” Should he express outrage? Horror at the king’s depravity? But what if Richard did not believe the story? What if he did want to marry the girl? He could find no clues in Richard’s face. If he erred, there would be no recovery. Oh, the duke might not dismiss him, but the wrong answer was bound to affect his prospects, to impair his credibility. He took several deep breaths to steady his nerves, and then made the only choice he could. Since he did not know the “right answer” to this deadly riddle, all he could do was speak the truth. “I have my doubts about that, my lord.”
Richard showed no reaction. “Why is that?”
Longchamp knotted his fingers together in his lap. “If I may speak candidly, my lord duke? From what I’ve heard said of the English king, he is a man given to sins of the flesh. He has violated his marriage vows time and time again. I would not find it easy to defend his sense of honor. But I have never heard him called a fool. And to have taken your betrothed, the sister of the French king, as his concubine would be an act beyond foolhardy. It would be quite mad.”
He could feel sweat trickling down his ribs, could taste it on his upper lip. He even imagined his thudding heartbeat must be audible to Richard in the endless silence that greeted his words. When he could endure it no longer, he said hoarsely, “If I have offended you, my lord…”
“You have not,” Richard said composedly. As their eyes met, Longchamp saw that he had guessed right, and he went limp with relief, understanding just how much had been at stake. Richard agreed with him, did not credit this malicious rumor. But more important, this had been a test, both of his judgment and of his willingness to speak honestly, to tell the duke what he really thought. And he had passed it, had proven himself worthy of the duke’s trust.
Richard sat down in a high-backed chair, stretching his long legs toward the warmth of the hearth. “Your logic is impeccable, Guillaume,” he said approvingly. “My father is, as you say, ‘given to sins of the flesh.’ But he has never been one for thinking with his cock. And Alys Capet is no Helen of Troy. Philippe ought to have known better.”
Longchamp had no interest whatsoever in the French princess; he neither liked nor trusted women. But he said now what he thought was expected of a man of God and shook his head disapprovingly. “It is indeed shameful that the French king would besmirch his own sister’s honor for political gain.”
“Shameful, indeed,” Richard echoed, so dryly that Longchamp realized the duke was not taken in by his sham indignation, knew it was feigned and did not care in the least. “It is not as if Philippe has ever been the soul of sentiment. And I do not think he has even seen Alys since she was handed over to my parents at the time of our betrothal, when he was all of four, five at the most. It would not surprise me, though, if my cousin Philip was the one to suggest the idea to Philippe. That is how Philip got control of his wife’s inheritance, after all, by accusing her of adultery.”
“We are dealing with some very unscrupulous men, my lord.”
“Yes, the gathering at Bonsmoulins ought to be a most interesting encounter. It is all such hypocrisy, Guillaume. Any peace between my father and Philippe would last as long as ice on a summer’s day, for there is not enough trust between them to fill a walnut shell. The both of them are born liars, but I will do whatever I must to patch up a peace, for without it, I dare not leave for the Holy Land. So I will let the French king think that he is using me. I will even overlook the fact that he clearly believes me to be as easily duped as my brother Hal. I’ll admit I was somewhat insulted at first by that. But then I realized what a convenient excuse he has given me for refusing to wed his sister. He wants that wedding, you see, for the same reason that my father does not want it: Hal’s sorry example. But I have no intention of taking Alys as my wife. I do not need her to hold on to the Vexin, and I can do better for England. The marriage would not turn Philippe into an ally. It could be revealed that he is really one of my father’s bastards and he’d still hate the Angevins.”
Richard debated telling his chancellor that he was thinking of a marital alliance with Navarre, which made a great deal of strategic sense, but he decided he’d shared enough of his secrets with the cleric this day. “So,” he concluded, “should Philippe ever attempt to compel me to honor the plight-troth with Alys, I would be quite indignant. How could he expect me, after all, to wed my father’s bedmate?”
“I think the English and French kings are going to find you are more than a match for either one of them,” Longchamp said admiringly. What a formidable team they were going to make. And since Richard’s future held the promise of a crown, mayhap he could dare to dream of a bishop’s miter.
Longchamp had learned that Richard’s moods were mercurial, and like his father, he was as changeable as the winds. He was not surprised now when Richard’s acerbic amusement gave way without warning to a far grimmer humor. “I am not going to let him win, Guillaume,” he said. “Not this time. I could not keep him from making my mother pay the price for our failed rebellion. Fifteen years she has been his prisoner, fifteen years! And she is his prisoner, for all that she no longer wants for a queen’s comforts. I have had to submit to his demands and subject myself to his whims and endure the indignity of having him brandish the crown before me as he would tease a dog with a bone. But no more. I will not let him rob me of my birthright, and I will not let him keep me from honoring my vow to defend the Holy Land. I do think he is behind that very opportune rebellion in my duchy, and I would not put it past him to be conniving with the Count of Toulouse, either. And if by chance, he did not, it is only because he did not think of it. No, a reckoning is long overdue, and we will have it at Bonsmoulins.”
The peace conference at Bonsmoulins would prove to be one of the worst experiences of Henry’s life. His suspicions were immediately ignited when Richard and the French king arrived together, not believing for a moment Richard’s nonchalant claim that they’d just happened to meet on the way. Still brooding over the offer Richard had
